


All that's divined

by chaosmanor, Neonbat, profoundalpacakitten



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adventure Fic, Aggressively supporting each other, Assassin Bucky Barnes, Avengers as Sages, Bathing symbolism?, Blowjobs, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky finding himself, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, High Fantasy, Hydra Fuckery, Identity Issues, Infinity Stones, M/M, Magic, Necromancy, POV Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Secrets, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve tries Bucky's patience, journey fic, oracle steve rogers, so many secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 54,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27930682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosmanor/pseuds/chaosmanor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonbat/pseuds/Neonbat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/profoundalpacakitten/pseuds/profoundalpacakitten
Summary: The Ghost is tasked with killing the Oracle of Shield, the greatest enemy of the kingdom of Hydra. It’s there, in the heart of a cave of magic and impossibility, that fate extends its hand, and leads him into a vast, dangerous unknown.
Relationships: Brief Pepper/Tony, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, brief loki/thor(not related)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 68
Collections: Not Another Stucky Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I didn't think this thing would get done there for a bit, it's been wild!
> 
> Shout out to my wonderful artists, like seriously!! It's been such a fun process! 
> 
> And a special shout out to my beta, [Nika](https://twitter.com/Smart_Boy_Bucky) ! She went above and beyond, and honestly without her, this thing wouldn't have gotten completed on time. She pulled double duty as a beta and a cheer reader, and most importantly, pointed out glaring plot holes, haha.

Brackish sap oozed from the split boughs as his sword hacked through the dense growth. All around him the forest was teeming with life, the songs of birds, the undulations of canopy beasts, and the chirps of insects. More like a jungle than what would be appropriate for the cool-weather forest layered thick with clover and moss. 

Appropriate for the treasure it harboured deep within.

_“Task, find, and neutralize The Oracle.”_

The grating voice of his Master slithered up his spine, slimy fingers that grasped the back of his neck. The brand on his arm throbbed, goading him on despite thirst building in his throat and the tacky wet filling his socks from skin rubbed raw. 

He’d pushed through the past three days, urging his body past what should be a threshold for any normal man. He wasn’t sure what he was anymore, but human wasn’t it. If he’d ever been. 

He paused, scanning the area. All intel pointed to the Oracle being housed within the glittering wood of Brookhaven, where magic hummed thick in the air. A promise of chaos. It was a smart place to put a being that channeled the raw Arcane, but foolish to put them so far out away from the bosom protection of Shield. 

Shield. An arrogant name for arrogant people. A treaty of barley-cordial kingdoms united around a shared scion. A Seer so imbued with magic that they could see every corner of the combined kingdoms. Nothing could get past their Sight. Nothing except for a ghost. 

The Ghost was virtually silent, sliding through the forest like water around river rocks. He cuts what he needs, moves around what he can, trying to disturb as little as possible. He’s left little in the ways of a trail, spelled boots making barely an indent in the loam. It’s second nature to him by now, stalking through terrain as easily as a cat would hunt in the night. 

Such is why, when a low, rumbling growl hums through the air moments later, the Ghost is surprised. 

They burst from the dense foliage before he had time to adjust his sword hand. Massive creatures of ivory and obsidian stone, sharp marble fangs, and gemstone eyes. Their grating charge sounded of thunder clapping through the trees, crushing everything in their path. 

The Ghost grit his teeth together, shifting his sword to his unspelled hand. The brand’s blaze burned brighter against his skin, flaring until agony consumed him. The pain never mattered, only the strength granted to him by the brand.

He met the first creature armed with horns and hooves with a shout, glowing hand gripping one of the spiraling horns as he dodged to the left. The sudden weight of the creature’s inertia threw him from his feet, swinging him up and over onto its back. If not for his ensorcelled grip his arm would have surely been torn from the socket.

Claws from the second tore into the Ghost’s left calf even as he thrust his sword into the barely-there space between the segmented head and spine of the first construct. The second guardian yowled, citrine eyes blazing as it swiped again. 

The Ghost jumped, not waiting to ride the falling body of the first guardian down, its hooves kicking in the air. Outraged bleating layered over the feline growls. Distantly, a wolf howled, the sound of wind tearing through a cave.

He turned and ran, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. He had to find open ground to fight the guardians on or else the fight would end before it had even begun.

Paws and hooves tore after him from south and east, moving faster than his injured leg could carry him. When eight became four, The Ghost threw himself to the side, tumbling hard into a downhill briar that saved his spine being snapped in two by a guardian’s mighty leap while simultaneously ripping any exposed skin to ribbons. 

Water met him at the end of his roll, crystal clear depths teeming with opalescent fish that scattered the moment his ungainly landing disrupted their tranquility. He was up and running before he had time to fully scan the landscape. 

The mare-sized lupine guardian bleeding from the bushes narrowly made him miss spotting the opening of a cave nestled against the other side of the sprawling pond. He turned, leaping onto one of the algae-slick boulders resting lazily in the waters.

Water rippled against his right boot after a brief stumble, the two guardians stomping through the swallow edge paying little heed to their hulking weight made of stone. The Ghost didn’t look back, jumping, slipping, and scrambling over the rocks until he could throw himself to the other side at the cave’s opening.

The tip of a claw hooked into his pants leg, dragging him back towards the pond. Snarling, he slashed backward with the sword he’d stubbornly clung to, the tip slicing through the soaked fabric and a bit of his boot, enough to tear him free. 

If he could just get to the cave, he could hopefully bottle-neck the guardians into a smaller space until he could find the bindings that held their constructed forms together with the tip of his blade. Anything to bide him more time.

The moment he tipped into the cave he expected the crashing of stone on stone to erupt behind him, but only the sound of his panted breath greeted him. He didn’t hazard a look behind him until a few yards within, retreat halting. 

Standing motionless at the entrance the two guardians stared, citrine and ruby unfocussed. After a few seconds, their bulk shuddered, shaking off the water clinging to their smooth segments. They sat, curling up at the mouth of the cave, slumbering beasts awaiting their prey.

The Ghost turned again, staring into the open maw ahead of him.

Almost as if summoned by his thoughts, glow-balls flared to life one by one, drifting pale-orange orbs hovering in the air just out of reach against the cave’s walls. None lit behind him. They beckoned him on. 

The cave went on for miles. Impossibly stretching on and on. There were no discerning features separating one stretch from another, just rough-hewn walls carved into the rock, smooth ground, and the dull scent of stagnant water. 

A touch of rose in the air was the first clue that something had changed. Faint, barely-there within the void. His pace quickened, heedless of the ache in his leg and thorn-torn skin.

Rose. Evergreen. Rosemary. Honeysuckle. 

They all melded, tugging him deeper within the cave that started to hum under the weight in the air. An electric charge stronger than the forest he’d left behind. 

There was no warning. One moment he walked in an endless hall of dark stone, and the next he lurched into a massive cavern bathed in soft light. His feet sunk into lush moss, pillowing his every step until he crushed tiny violets underfoot. 

A bee buzzed past his ear, jerking his gaze to the left. The little insect lit upon a fat daffodil with the tall daisies jutting from behind a blackberry bush to its right. The smell of spring, summer, fall, and crisp notes of winter were too much for his senses to bear, and he stumbled. 

Tripping onto his knees, he stared ahead, following the meandering path of the enchanted cave. Moonlight shown from a solid ceiling, glittering stars kissing stalactites while vines hugged stalagmites. 

The Ghost found them there, at the center of it all. His target. 

For a moment, he’s sure someone has already come along and done what his Masters bid him do. The figure lying in the cradle of multi-color silks and flowers was too still, too pale to be living. Their skin too luminous. 

Slowly, he got to his feet, a dizzying weight trying to tug his limbs into the floor. His head felt fuzzy in ways that had nothing to do with the brand, a brand that had gone curiously still upon entering the cave. Walking closer until he was standing at the edge of the silks, down at the brittle creature among them. The chains that held them were fine indeed, lengths of delicate silver as dainty as the creature they imprisoned. Skinny wrists, ankles, waist, even throat wound with the shining chains bolted deep into the earth underneath the silks. 

The Oracles’ chest rose and fell, the only thing that told the Ghost that his mission must go on. 

But he stared, storm-colored eyes tracing the sharp angles of the Oracles’ cheeks kissed with the fans of their dark lashes. Silken blond hair clung to their forehead, the rest of the long tresses fanned around their head in a sun-toned halo. 

Gems glittered against their forehead, set into their very skin. One of verdant green, another garnet red, and the last a sunset orange.

The path of his eyes trailed down, long an aquiline nose, pale pink lips, and down further still. They were slight, nothing more than a wisp, bird bones clothed in gossamer cloth. It was the transparency of the cloth that gave the Ghost pause.

The Oracle was, visually, a male. A term almost too blunt for a creature so ethereal. 

When he looked back up, the Oracles’ eyes were opening.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The Oracle’s eyes opened, a bright aquamarine just as gemlike as the stones pressed into his skin.”You’ve come to kill me, then?”

The Ghost wasn’t surprised, this was the Oracle after all, even with all the spells laid painfully on him before his departure the Ghost hadn’t been so naive as to not assume the Oracle would See his approach. What the Ghost didn’t understand was why there was a lack of guards around this creature, negating the Guardians waiting ineffectively outside of the cave. 

He drew his sword from the scabbard, fingers slippery with his own blood. He might be mistaken, but he thought the Oracle smiled at the sight of it. It had been a while since the Ghost was called upon to understand the expressions of people.

“Be quick about it, please.” And the Oracle closed his eyes again with a gentle sigh, as still as the grave. 

The Ghost dared closer, stepping into the mired pool of silks and chains. The perfumed scent of flowers doubled as he all but waded through the undulating cloth. Where once the silk threads reminded him of running water they were now serpents, ominous in their beauty. 

A bead of sweat trickled down The Ghost’s brow where it had been perfectly pleasant in the cave minutes before. Now his breath was hot and thick, sticking to his throat in a lazy haze. His injured leg trembled, forcing him to put more weight on the other. Not the ideal stance for dispatching a messenger of the so-called ‘gods’.

He looked at the Oracle laying at his feet, tangled in the rich fabric and chained in shining metal. So fragile. So _thin_. If not for the splendor of his prison The Ghost would think the Oracle an Unfortunate with ribs pressing against his skin, no fat to keep him warm.

The ever-burning pain in his left arm rekindled with a vengeance, drawing a hiss past his lips. The gift that Hydra had given him hurt, a constant weight reminding him by whose grace he lived and died. He was a weapon. A sword in the dark. His very name implied his nebulous existence.

“I can help you,” The Ghost’s eyes snapped back to the Oracle’s, who was once again looking at him as if he could see Beyond.

He was locked in that stare, pinned by blue rimmed with the same lush green as the plants populating the enchanted cave. Here in such beauty, lay a prisoner wreathed in gems, silks, and flowers, but a prisoner all the same. 

The Ghost’s fist clenched around his sword, the brand on his arm doubling down on its ache. 

“How?”

Getting the Oracle free of his bindings was as simple as pulling at them with his spell-enhanced arm, tugging the lengths free, and letting them dissolve into nothingness outside of the resting pit.

The Oracle’s fragile body was as light as a child’s in the Ghost’s grip, but despite his obvious discomfort the Oracle refused to be carried and insisted on leaning into the Ghost’s proffered arm instead. 

The Ghost harvested from the cave what he could. Fruits, herbs, and refilling his water skin. The Oracle, stubbornly, wouldn’t let him kill one of the wandering creatures in the cave, insisting they were somehow special. The Ghost thought that magic rabbit would taste just the same as a normal one. 

“There are Guardians made of earth outside the cave,” The Ghost warned through their painfully slow trek out of the cave’s long hall. 

“They won’t stop us,” The Oracle replied with confidence, his quivering grip tightening.

The Oracle hadn’t lied. The stone creatures stayed inert as they passed, gemstone eyes no longer alight with magical energy. 

Like it or not, The Ghost had to pick the Oracle up, much to his protests, to carry him across the massive stones in the clear lake. The Ghost just opted not to put the Oracle back down afterward and blessedly the Oracle was too distracted by his surroundings to notice.

“It’s been so long,” The Oracle whispered, craning his head back to look through the canopy of the lush, thick-trunked trees. “What is the date?”

The Ghost adjusted their path, heading back towards the direction he’d last seen his horse. The beast was trained to stay put, either it had done as it was told or it was dead.

“Sixty three of the cycle of the fifth Wind.” The Ghost droned, the year coming to him without him consciously knowing where he’d learned it. His Handler hadn’t briefed him of the year before he departed. 

On his back, The Oracle stilled.”The cycle of Wind?” He breathed, slender fingers gripping the Ghost’s armored shoulders tight. “The last I knew, it was the fifth Water.” The Oracle’s breath stuttered, a trembled exhale lost in the quiet symphony of birds in the forest if not for the Ghost’s keen ears. 

The Oracle stayed quiet until they finally reached the Ghost’s horse, only rousing to murmur quiet cooed words as the Ghost lifted the Oracle’s small body onto the beast. 

“My name is Steve, well, Stiofán, but Steve will suit enough.” The Oracle — _Steve_ declared as the Ghost readied the procured supplies in the horse’s saddlebags. “And yours?”

“The Ghost has no name,” He replied as he swung himself up, the sensation of a warm, small body against his back oddly disconcerting. 

Steve hummed through a frown,” That won’t do. Everyone has a name. Then, for the time being, I will call you James.” The name stirred a flutter of discomfort in the Ghost’s stomach, but he let it drift away with every step the mare took towards the forest’s edge.

By some blessing, The Or — Steve, didn’t offer any more conversation. As it was, The Ghost (James?) had already spoken more in the past hour than he had in…

In?

He didn’t have memories past shadows. Only the echoed commands of his master in a twinkling hall, the distant sound of water, and a woman’s voice. Nebulous strands slipped through his fingertips before he could grasp them. 

Setting his jaw, The Gh — _James_ , pressed his mare onwards. 

They had only put a handful of leagues between them and the forest before he could feel Steve’s grip around his waist wane. Steve slumped heavily against his back, cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. If Steve was as weak as he looked then already this bit of travel would put a strain on him. 

It was too close to the forest to stop, but stop they must. 

James steered the horse towards a small copse, refusing to spend the night somewhere there wasn’t at least minimal cover. Steve was too noticeable, draped in gossamer cloth with gems bright on his forehead. Anyone would spot him and know him to be a Seer at the least. 

He had to bodily lift Steve from the horse. Surprisingly, despite his weariness, Steve could stand, meandering in the small copse as James set about building their camp for the night. 

“How is it you were chained with no food or water, and live?” James found the question pulled from him before he could silence himself. A Ghost shouldn’t speak unless willed. 

Steve sat underneath a tall oak, heaving a relieved sigh. “The same magic that allows me to do all things.” He shrugged, tugging up his sleeves to reveal two more gems nestled in the pale skin of his inner wrists. 

“Now that I’m freed, I can consume, though admittedly I don’t know what the needs of my body will be. I have...not been free since I was made to be this.” Steve righted his clothing, eyes downcast to the tall blades of grass tickling his skin.

“Made?” James had assumed an Oracle was born, not made. 

A muscle in Steve’s jaw flexed, sharpening a profile already glass-edged. “I was a Seer before, a powerful one.” His spindly fingers bunched in the fabric over his knees. “There is much to say, too much for now.”

Steve’s piercing gaze found him again as James laid out his thin bedroll, just enough to keep the dirt from his clothing. A Ghost couldn’t haunt if it was dirty and covered in dust. 

“Come, let me look at this spell laid upon you.” Steve beckoned him near, though he balked at first. Steve was not his designated Handler, and yet Bucky still felt a pull. Before he knew it he hazarded closer, eased by the open expression of utter calm on Steve’s face.

“I have many spells on me.” He knelt in front of Steve. Warm fingers touched his temples and James tensed, staring at the small man who so far had shown no signs of being afraid. 

A gentle pulse of power rippled through him, meeting the hissing sting of his spelled arm. Abruptly, pain surged, tearing through his head with the surety of a knife. He gasped, making to twitch away, but Steve’s hands held him in an abnormally firm grasp. 

As quick as it came, the pain ebbed, and Steve lowered his hands.”It’s...a complex spell.” His face was pinched, strain pulling at the corners of his eyes. “It will take time. I’ve chipped away a piece, it’s all I dare without causing you injury.” By the weak glassiness of Steve’s eyes, James assumed it was weariness that gave Steve pause as well. Magic such as that must be draining.

James withdrew to retrieve his rations, though as he settled to eat he noticed Steve looking at the mound of bread and cheese James unwrapped from a treated skin. He wasn’t sure what made him decide to break off some and pass it over, despite Steve saying he hadn’t had the need for food in however long Steve had been the Oracle. Kindness was not known to the Ghost and he shouldn’t be capable of it.

But then, he wasn’t sure what had possessed him to defy his Handlers and escape with the Oracle either. 

As he bit into his food with mechanical efficiency, he watched as Steve placed his hunk of cheese between his portion of bread. James didn’t know what to name the expression that passed over Steve’s face, but the sound was undeniable. A heady note that fluttered Steve’s eyelids, body scrunching up as if Steve was putting all his effort into tasting the simple meal on his tongue. 

“I’d forgotten the taste,” Steve laughed, clutching the remains of his food like a precious diamond. 

After they’d eaten, James bid Steve to sleep in the bedroll while he took roost sitting at the base of a tree. Despite his gaps in his memory, he knew himself to be capable of many nights without rest. He would keep watch as Steve slept, even if Steve attempted to argue with him at first. The Ghost didn’t make compromises. 

Somewhere in the twilight hour, Steve began to squirm, jeweled brow scrunching. As the minutes trickled by James began to notice a faint, ethereal glow shimmer against Steve’s skin. A whisper of power, barely there, barely enough to see in the pitch of the night. Only someone with eyes boosted by whatever spells gave him strength could glimpse through the veil and see the magic radiating from Steve’s every pore. 

Steve lurched upright with a gasp and only James’ training kept him from flinching at the harsh sound pulled from Steve’s narrow chest.

“We need to leave, _now_. They will come for me, see that I have gone.” Steve threw James’ cloak from his body that had served as a makeshift blanket. After a moment’s hesitation he bent to pick up the cloak and wrap around his shoulders, large hood pulled over his fair head.

The Ghost survived on commands, and this was no exception. He was to his feet and gathering his pack before Steve had adjusted the cloak on his shoulders. He called his mare to him, fixing his bag to her saddle. 

For a person held prisoner for fates knows how long, Steve moved quickly. They were upon the horse’s back within minutes and galloping down the path into the night.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Perfect Man soap made by chaosmanor. Made with saponified olive oil, coconut oil, cacao butter, shea butter, and rice bran oil to give moisturising suds, and fragranced with a “A Perfect Man” fragrance blend. Fragrance contains notes of bergamot, cardamom, ginger, nutmeg, citrus, frankincense, red berries, black pepper, black musk, patchouli, vetiver.


	3. Chapter 3

“I’d forgotten how it felt to ride a horse,” Steve mumbled behind him, shifting his hips against the saddle in a vain attempt to work some of the soreness out. 

James didn’t feel the need to comment, despite hearing Steve sigh behind him. Steve had been talking more and more over the past two days, telling him about the gems set into his body, among other things. Sometimes, James thought Steve talked just to fill the silence.

“They amplify my natural gifts, so the Sages said. Each was gifted to me by the Sages, keepers of the gems that were tasked to look after them until someone ‘blessed’ would be able to be a vessel for all of them.” Steve wiggled a little more, hands tugging at James’ tunic briefly for some leverage. 

James stirred his mare across a small stream, and Steve tugged and moved once more. A small flare of something rooted in James’ chest, and he made the split decision to pause his horse at the stream’s edge. 

“Go, dip your feet.” He bit with a tone he hadn’t heard out of himself before.

Steve grumbled,” No need to be cross.” Pouting, Steve threw his leg over the mare and slid down onto the lush grass, toeing off his delicate slippers carelessly. 

A low groaned sigh fluttered past his lips as he waded into the shin-deep water, wiggling his toes over the smooth stones and mud.

“I’ll need to see each Sage again, to remove these blighted gems.” Steve continued, momentarily glancing at where James had bound strips of cloth around his wrists to hide the gems. His forehead was more troublesome, though the cloak hid it from sight as Steve was loathed to wear cloth as well around his forehead in the heat of the noon sun. The remaining gem set above Steve’s breast bone was also easily hidden within the folds of James’ borrowed cloak.

Despite the coverings, James still thought the Oracle looked too ethereal. Milk pale skin harboring the dim glow of full moon’s light. Eyes as fathomless as the Deep. There was power beyond comparison contained within Steve’s small body, beyond what James could understand.

Steve kicked up a foot, sending an arch of water splashing in front of him. “I’ve missed this!” He cried, louder than James would have liked. 

James blinked, the sound of splashing water washing over him in a tide.

_ “Watch! Are you watching?” _

_ “Yeah, I’m watchin’.” _

_ “No, you’re not!” _

_ He rolled his eyes and looked up from the anthill he’d been poking with a stick for the past ten minutes. A little girl stood on an overturned log over the sedate river. A stone’s throw away he could hear an older man setting up fish traps, humming in a deep basal rumble. _

_ The little girl’s feet dug into the moss-covered log, leaping as far as her tiny body could carry her. Her pale blue dress billowed around her, catching the light of the midday sun. _

Cold water hit his face, jarring James from visions of sunlight streaming through loose, dark waves, and freckled cheeks. The distant sound of the child’s giggle drowned in Steve’s mischievous laughter. 

His hand rose, wiping away the flecks of water clinging to his cheek as he stared quizzically back at Steve who looked as if he expected James to do  _ something _ .

Whatever it was, Steve was left wanting, and his merriment trickled to a wane smile.”Their hold on you is great,” He walked from the stream, the soaked hem of his garment clinging to his legs. 

Gentle fingers reached to bracket James’ forehead as they’d done for the past two nights. James could see the furrow tighten between Steve’s brows as his eyes drifted closed, a breath catching in his narrow chest. 

“Do you dream?” The question was a simple one but settled a heavy air between them.

“No,” He didn’t know what the vision had been. Who the child was, or even if the person’s eyes he’d seen through was him. The Ghost had no childhood. The Ghost was no one. 

Steve’s lips pressed together and once again James thought he’d somehow disappointed. “I think you will, sooner or later. Everyone dreams.”

“I am no one,” James replied easily.

Steve’s face fell further, and the hands against James’ cheeks grasped him closer.”You are, and you will remember it in time when their grip weakens. I’ve called you James, haven’t I?”

The warmth of Steve’s hands permeated the ever-present chill that no fire or sun could chase away.”Do you know who I am then?”

Steve withdrew with another great sigh, “No. The magic in you shadows much, but I know your name, and that is enough for now.” He said with an air of finality as he bent to retrieve his shoes. 

Back on the horse, Steve fell silent, arms wrapped loosely around James’ waist. It wasn’t until they came to a fork in the path that James broke the silence.

“Where are we going?”

Steve shrugged against his back, ”I don’t know yet, but I will. Pick a direction, and it will be the right one.” Again, Steve spoke with such confidence James bent to his puzzling explanation. 

After another moment’s hesitation, James steered the mare to the left and nudged her onwards.

* * *

James approached the small village with some reservations, but they needed to procure clothing for Steve and resupply. Steve still didn’t have the appropriate appetite that a normal human being would have but he did admit to the faint stirring of hunger. He didn’t eat much, barely that of a child, but James thought it wise to pad his rations in case of scarce game.

The closer they came, the more Steve’s slender arms squeezed at his middle to keep him from tipping from the saddle in his desperation to crane a closer view. James could feel the anxious flutter of Steve’s heart like a hummingbird’s wing against his back. 

“I haven’t seen another person besides you in seventy years,” Steve said behind him, righting his weight in the saddle at last.

“No one?”

“No, they sealed the cave with magic to preserve the area and the life in the cave. The Guardians kept wanderers away and killed all that tried to do what you were tasked with. Time...passed strangely for me.” Steve’s fingers flexed faintly against his stomach, a quiet sigh breathed behind his shoulder blades. 

Children screamed with merriment in the tall grass as they passed by the first squat houses. A dog ran alongside his mares sedate strides before inevitably getting bored and bounding back to nip at the children’s heels as they played. Dour faces milled around the hard-packed dirt streets, the ambient noise of humanity briefly punctuated by a fussing animal.

“Stay hidden and stay by the horse,” James ordered as he dismounted, tying the horse’s reins off to a nearby post. 

As James approached a third vendor ten minutes later, he heard a burst of angry voices. Glancing to the left, a vendor peddling roasted root vegetables raised a boney fist and struck at a beggar child wrapped in dirty rags that clutched a morsel of stolen food to her chest.

James returned to his transaction, growling the vendor down a few more copper bits. He was too busy tucking the roughspun tunic into his hipbag to register the figure that darted by him, cloak billowing around pale ankles. 

“ _ Stop!”  _ Steve’s voice tore James’ eyes back to the scene. 

Steve dove, wrapping his hands around the root-vendor’s arm before he could strike the prone child again.

“Fuck off!” The vendor staggered, swinging out wildly to shove Steve bodily from him. Despite the man being thin, he was significantly taller, easily able to cast aside Steve’s clumsy interference. 

Steve went stumbling back, heel catching the too-long cloak. He fell before James could cross the market’s radius, cloak hood sliding. James’ hand flung out to snatch the slipping fabric and probably a good handful of Steve’s hair with it, tugging it forcefully down over Steve’s fool head. 

“I should bleed you too!” The vendor was near frothing. The child had scrambled to her feet the moment Steve assailed the vendor, darting off into the alleys like a rat. 

“Try it,” Bucky growled, yanking Steve to his feet by one of his lithe forearms. His other hand hovered over the scabbard on his hip. 

The vendor glanced at him up and down, and James knew himself to be fearsome; A feral dog wrapped in dark leathers. The man’s shoulders drooped, apprehension finally registering in his wide-set eyes. 

“Piss off then,” He grumbled, tucking tail behind his stall to start feeding more coals to his small roasting pit. 

James hauled Steve back to the horse by his arm like an unruly child, ignoring Steve's protests every step of the way. 

“James! The child — I have to see if —  _ James. _ ” Steve continued, the nails of his free hand digging futilely at Bucky’s grip. 

He all but tossed Steve over his horse’s back, “Are you a fool? Or do you wish to be a prisoner again?” James snapped, an unknown fire flaring hot in his chest. 

“It was the right thing to do!” Steve crossed his arms and set his jaw. 

“It was just a beggar.”

“ _ She _ was a child. And a hungry one.” Steve’s eyes never stopped trying to glare him down to the market square. Perhaps Steve could locate the child with whatever gifts the supposed ‘gods’ had given him, but James didn’t care to find out. He had no interest in Steve’s ‘right’. 

“Then you filled her stomach for the night at the risk of exposing yourself.” James took the reins in hand to start leading them away. 

By some miracle, Steve stayed quiet for nearly two whole minutes before reaching to recover the reins.”I want to stay at the inn. I haven’t had a bath in decades, and unlike you, I don’t enjoy smelling like horse all the time.” The impudent idiot had the audacity to sound cross with  _ him _ .

“No.”

“Are you saying you don’t want a bath? A bed?” Steve kept on, “Beer?” James’ step faltered. The phantom taste of oats and juniper touched his tongue, and James swallowed, chasing the memory he didn’t have. 

No one had gotten a good look at Steve. They’d exposed themselves as unruly travelers in the market but he was intimidating enough to discourage idle curiosity. Instinct told James he was being needlessly risky. Conditioning said to put his comfort ahead of his task was unwise to the point of gnawing fear. 

A throbbing discomfort momentarily gripped his skull.

He was The Ghost. Baths, beds, beer,  _ freedom _ were things frivolous to the dead. Another night on the hard ground with insects needling at his skin as the fire smoke waned would not deter him from functioning. 

“James… Let’s rest.” A slender hand descended on his shoulder, squeezing just enough to register the pressure through his leathers. 

Steve was The Oracle, a magical being, but James was unsure of the demands of his body. Perhaps these frivolous things were needed for Steve to function well.

Wordlessly, James pulled them towards the only inn, small, stinking of mousing cats, but he couldn’t deny the faint drain of tension between his shoulders as he stepped over the threshold. 

His hand dipped to a departing patron’s belt, cutting his pursestrings and pocketing the faint jingle of coins before any were none the wiser. The Ghost would use any means necessary to ensure their task, and his coin purse was light from the market. 

The room was small with a suspicious mold growing on the ceiling, but it was warm and Steve’s request for a bath was met quickly. James used a basin to clean himself up (at Steve’s bidding) while Steve’s bath was filled, a perfunctory job at best. 

Later, he sat in the lone chair, hand wrapped around a dented tankard as Steve stepped into the washing tub. Steve easily fit in a space Bucky himself would have been hard-pressed to fold himself up into, dipping willowy limbs into the steaming water. 

A low groan sighed through Steve’s chest, head tipped back as apparent rapture overtook him. “By the gods, this is even better than cheese.” Which was a high bar, considering the noises Steve had first made over simple crusts. 

James took a drink as a bubbly warmth briefly tied a string to his lips to try to tug them up. He hid the sensation in his tankard, watching as Steve washed until he was as pink as a newborn babe.


	4. Chapter 4

While The Ghost didn’t need much in the way of sleep, he still needed to rest for a few hours to maintain himself. Steve had insisted they share the bed, though James didn’t see the point when he could have easily leaned against the wall while seated. The Ghost didn’t let discomfort prevail, that would be unacceptable.

James woke, hand snatching a dagger from under his pillow as he sat up. Beside him, the bed creaked and he looked over to find Steve’s brows bunched in his sleep. A faint glow dusted his lashes as if tiny suns were trying to break free of his eyelids. Steve’s peachy lips parted with a quiet gasp, body shifting against the bed, fisting the sheets. Quiet words slithered from his tongue, barely-there whispers of a language James didn’t recognize. Words that filled every nook and cranny of the room, hints of power bristling the hair on James’ arms.

Steve’s eyes snapped open, and one of his hands shot out to grasp Bucky’s forearm. “I know where...where to go,” He said breathlessly, blinking the golden glow from his eyes as he heaved himself up. 

Heavily leaning against James’ rigid body, Steve did his best to muster.” The first Sage, I know where he is. No more than a week’s ride.”

James nodded tightly though he didn’t move.

Steve’s face pinched,” We’re awake, let’s go.” He urged, jerking himself away to stumble ungainly to his feet.

Despite being doubtful of Steve’s ability to stay upright, James rallied, quickly packing away their meager possessions as Steve changed into a set of plain commoner clothing and the smaller cloak James purchased for him now that Steve had thoroughly coated James’ hemline with muck.

James wasn’t sure why it mattered, but...He preferred his clothing clean?

He paused, as still as a statue.

Steve’s bustling hurried around him a few more moments before he too paused, looking critically up at Bucky as if he could hurry him up by the force of his glare. 

“James?” He prompted impatiently.

“You’re bossy,” James mumbled, heaving his pack.

Surprise blossomed on Steve’s tired face, an airy chortle soon following.” So I’ve heard.” He smirked, shouldering his own smaller bundle. 

Leaving an hour before sunset was met with raised brows by the haggard town's guards who were nothing more than old men too broken down to do field work or hunt. Still, they rode on, falling into a growing rhythm. 

It was midday when their scenery gave way from expansive flat fields of grass or farmland to rolling hills. Bursts of yellow started dotting the landscape, more and more until his mare slowed to snuffle at the sea of daffodils James urged her through.

“By the Gods, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Steve marveled, eyes following a fat bumblebee dusted with pollen that hummed past.

James watched it buzz into the fields into the blanket of yellow and green, breathing the fragrant wind.

He pitched forward in his saddle, a sharp shout tearing from his throat before he could swallow it. Pain seared through his temple, and for a delirious moment, he slapped a hand to his head to check and see if a projectile had hit him. He was whole, but the pain was all-consuming. 

“Shhhh,” An anchor of cooling touch laid on his shoulder, “It’ll pass.” Even as he soothed, Steve reached up to grasp the sides of his head, and the haze of pain began to lift.

“What….was...it?” He ground out as he pushed himself up in his saddle, staring at the dribbling tendrils of blood left on his mare’s mane. Dimly, he registered the wetness of his face. A brief check revealed the blood wasn’t limited to his nose as he’d suspected, but from his eyes and ears as well, enough to fill the palm of his hand.

“Hydra’s hold on you. It’s fighting me. Fighting you. The longer you’re away from their influence the better it will be. They’re cruel Masters, but your tether is breaking.” Steve said this with such surety that James could only believe it so. Who was he to know better?

He righted himself, swaying only briefly to urge his horse on. He pretended not to hear the quiet shouts carried in the warm breeze. More giggling voices and shouts of ‘You’re it!’ kicking through the flowers.

After making camp for the night Steve fell asleep with a nibble of bread left in his fist, splayed gracelessly on his bedroll. A far cry from the ethereal creature James had pulled from a silk pit of flowers and glittering chains. 

He never meant to let his guard down. The Ghost was above exhaustion, above the needs of his body. It had been easy before to ignore all things except his mission…

And yet — 

James nodded off with his arms crossed around his chest, the gentle even tones of Steve and the horse breathing a surprisingly effective lullaby. 

_Fire licked his skin, unending fire._

_“You are only by our hands. Our grace. A lowly spirit given purpose and breath by the all-powerful. Forever our Reign. Hail Hydra.”_

_Hands of cold fire wrap around his throat, squeezing in the dark. Tighter, tighter, until the black flames consuming him are nothing but flickers of shadows in his tunneling sight._

“ — ky!” James’ vision exploded into focus. 

He stared into the petechia of Steve’s wide eyes. His hands flexed, the brand on his ensorcelled arm burning brightly. Bones in Steve’s throat ground together, punching a low groan from the frail body underneath him. 

Briefly, James leaned into the strangulation, using his bulk to push Steve into the thin bedroll.

James shook, sweat beading on his pale brow. They were screaming, clawing at his head.

_Hail Hydra. Hail Hydra. HAIL HYDRA._

He tore himself away, flinging his body to the ground to the right of Steve’s prone body. The pain hit moments later, singing through every fiber of his being. He writhed, clawing at the dirt slowly streaking with blood from a stone-torn nail. 

Weight registered dimly against his back, the searing inferno swept away in a numbing gust. Steve slumped against his back, gasping ragged breaths into his aching shoulder. 

“They...must have...realized...you’ve disobeyed.” Steve struggled, low voice stretched thin. 

James dimly groaned, slumping against the dirt.

Even after Steve was arranged back on the bedroll and James meters away, James didn’t dare sleep. He watched the slender patch of Steve’s skin at the nape of his neck as he slept, watching the bruise darken as the hours ticked by.

_Cut off one head.._

  


The stretch of the night seemed to grow longer and longer the more James fought his body’s desire for rest. Staring into the crackling flames of their small fire, he sat resolutely.

He didn’t want to fall asleep and Hydra regain control. He...didn’t want to kill Steve. He had a feeling that was monumental. The whispers of power within him rumbled, he wasn’t supposed to have wants and wishes. Just the desire to obey.

A few days later, James stifled another yawn, digging the heel of his gloved hand against his eyes. He needed to pay attention, his horse was a clever beast, but he didn’t trust her not to step errantly into danger. 

The pleasant meadows and hills had given way to bogs and humidity. Flies buzzed insistently at them, biting at any exposed skin. Steve huddled against his back, cloak drawn tight around his body.

He barely resisted the urge to ask ‘How much farther?’ like a child. His body was tough, it could weather this and more without complaint. But the nagging desire to say otherwise was always there. 

“Peculiar place for a Sage,” He grumbled instead, swatting a fly from his cheek. 

Steve hummed a note of agreement, muffled by his cocoon. “I don’t remember much about them, but I recall them all being very — peculiar is a good word for it, actually.” He peeked from his wrappings enough to spy the unpleasant landscape. “It’s funny, I don’t remember many of their faces at all, just pieces of conversation. Bickering, mostly.”

James’ desire to groan doubled. He had no interest in playing into egos. Magic users like that would want something from Steve, and James didn’t know how Steve expected to pay. Why would the Sages take back what was given as a ‘gift from the Gods’?

Steve was supposed to be a touchstone, a direct channel to the All. One that could see the past, present, and future, and wield power untold. So far, Steve hardly fit such a mantle. Steve just liked to trip over his own feet, huff about James’ apparent lack of small talk, and — and laid his hands against James’ head every night, chipping away at a great unknown.

“Tell me of Hydra. What do you remember?” Steve poked his head from his bundle, not at all plagued by the buzzing flies as James’ was. Which seemed mightily unfair. 

James tensed, more awake now than he’d been in days.” I don’t remember much. Aren’t you all-knowing?” His tone was a poised knife, despite this being an expected question. Lack of sleep, flies, or heat had never bothered him before, yet now a wolf growled somewhere within him, warning Steve away.

Unperturbed, Steve scoffed. ”Of course I’m not. Not even the Gods are...I think.” He sniffed, sitting back a little to shift around the saddle as he normally did when wearing on hours of travel. 

“You think?”

“They’ve never actually _talked_ to me, you know. People think they do, but for all I know, it’s a legion or just one. Just, vagueness. Could be that there are no Gods at all, save for the embrace of our Mother.” 

“Our Mother?” James couldn’t say he knew gods from ants, whoever had partitioned his mind had left out seemingly common knowledge. 

“Earth. Our unifying Mother.” Steve tucked his arms back around James’ waist for what James guessed was an oncoming nap. 

At least it would keep the ‘small talk’ down.

“And she’s a go — “ A roar in the fog reared the horse, hooves kicking up with a panicked whinny. 

Cursing, James hooked an arm around Steve before he went toppling into the mud.” Stay put,” He snapped, pushing Steve into the saddle as he dismounted. 

As soon as his sword sang from its scabbard the hulking mass of a giant lumbered into the edge of the fog, bloated grey body mottled green by moss and lichen. Before he laid eyes on the Giant, James could sworn he’d known nothing of the species. Now, looking at it, he knew to cut into its heels, wear it out and not risk closed combat for long. Beware of their swinging arms and stamping feet. One moment there had been nothing, and the next it was as if it always had been. 

James charged the moment the beast went to fill his lungs for another guttural roar. He never made it to the Giant’s ankles before a forearm as thick as a tree trunk swung at him. He sidestepped automatically, but the speed he expected wasn’t there. The beast slipped him, sending him twisting hard into the mire. 

Springing up, James sped a wide circle around the Giant, forcing it to turn on slow, clumsy feet. Its fists continued to swing, flailing wildly in pursuit. It staggered, and James stepped in to strike. 

“Wait!” Steve shouted, and James momentarily froze, staggering back out of the Giant’s reach. He didn’t get time to think on why he’d given up the perfect opportunity to sever the foul thing’s achilles, not when Steve was hurrying bare-foot through the bog to get to the Giant. 

Hissing, James moved to intercept.

“Wait, just, wait,” Steve warned him away, a smile breaking over his lips. Every step closer tugged at James’ insides. Steve was a fool, but surely not to the point of suicide? Whatever magic Steve was supposed to wield, Bucky didn’t think it was so finely honed it would spare him a quick death by a Giant’s fist. 

Steve walked closer, reaching out. ”I see you. I know you.” The citrine shine from Steve’s left wrist filled the choked swamp, and the giant stilled. 

Everything stilled. A great silence descended over a landscape that had once been filled with life, albeit unpleasant. The giant’s chest filled with a deep breath, and James prepared himself to see the so-called Oracle get smeared into the landscape. 

The sky melted, rolling ripples of overcast grey, bleeding into the trees and right into the ground. Steve stood at the center, a smile bright on his lips, uncaring that the world around them was melted candle wax. 

But then, sounds flooded back, cheerful birds, wind whistling through tall grass, and a bleat of an insistent goat. 

James closed his eyes, willing away the brief nausea. When he opened his eyes again he found himself standing in a rolling field of lush green, overgrown with life and vigor. 

Standing next to Steve, a man chuckled quietly.” Hello again,” The man stood with a natural bend, making him seem far smaller than he was. A middle-aged man bundled up against the perceived cold like an old man. “How did you know?”

“The flies, those kinds of flies are supposed to sting, not bite like horseflies.” Steve tittered.

The man’s cheeks flushed pale pink, and he ducked his head with a wane laugh.”It’s been a long time since I was anywhere but here. I guess my memory is slipping in my old age.” He turned, stepping onto a winding pathway of worn, round stones. 

“Come, I’ll make tea.” 

James returned to Steve’s side, brow furrowing.”Is this…?”

“Yeah,” Steve tugged his shirtsleeve to urge him forward. 

“I don’t understand,”

“It was a mirage. It wasn’t real. None of it ever was. I just didn’t know how to break it until he came to meet us.” Steve pulled him along as if he really had the strength to move James if James didn’t allow it. 

James looked down at himself, his bog-sodden clothing miraculously intact, only the normal wear and tear of travel. Even the burning bites on his cheeks and neck were gone, leaving only a dim echo of sensation when he touched the pale skin.

“Magic? I didn’t think you could conjure one’s surroundings.” James had a dull grasp on magic but he knew you couldn’t create a whole countryside over a field and home. 

Steve’s hand slid into his, squeezing gently.”It wasn’t a true reality, just magic that influences your mind. That’s why the flies didn’t bother me, and I was in no real danger. My mind knew it to be a false reality.”

James kept walking right until they were at the threshold.”You knew and didn’t inform me?”

At least Steve had the sense to look apologetic,” I’m sorry. I had no way of knowing if you would believe me. I was going to tell you, but the ‘giant’ attacked before I could.”

James puffed a hard exhale, and only when he was nursing the acidic twang in his stomach did he realize this was what must be called ‘annoyance’. 

“Better a giant than flies,” James mumbled,” Least I can fight the giant.” He ignored the poorly suppressed giggle that followed him into the cottage. 

The Sage looked up from a fire pit set in stones at one of the corners, hefting a sizable kettle onto the holding hook.”Sit anywhere you’d like. It’s been a long time since I had visitors.”

While Steve was content to sit on a squashy cushion near the firepit, James remained standing, a silent sentinel over Steve’s shoulder. 

“Sage, I — “

“Bruce,” The Sage interjected with his dozy smile. 

“Bruce then, my name is Steve if you don’t remember, and this is my friend James.” Steve introduced them with an air of impatience,” I came here to have the gem removed. Could you do that? Take it back?”

Once again Steve thrust out his wrist pressed with a pale yellow gemstone.

“Take it back? Many people went through a lot of trouble to get it there to start with.” Bruce walked to a delicately hewed cabinet to drag out three small boxes of dried herbs.

Steve squared his narrow shoulders, jaw set into stone.” Be that as it may, I wish to be rid of it. Would you do it?”

Bruce tied up a small satchel of the herbs to drop into the warming water,” Perhaps. You _are_ helping a great many people, Steve. Protecting the Shield Kingdoms and all of its sovereign interests.”

Exhaling a low hiss, James bled the tight ball at the center of his chest.” He was a prisoner. No matter how beautiful the chains were, they held him there.” 

Steve stared, lips parted with the half-formed retort he’d been about to lob at Bruce.”Y-yes...that.” He roused himself, leaning into the rigid assassin that had somehow become his bodyguard. “I would wish to help people out of my own free will.”

Inclining his head, Bruce retrieved three hand-molded clay cups and filled them with a deep amber tea, sleepy smile teeming with warmth.

”Alright, let’s see it. It’s been years,” Bruce folded himself down on his knees on top of the cushions, reaching for Steve’s wrist. “You’re very strong, Steve, to weather them all.” Bruce’s gentle voice flowed over river stones, filling the drowsy cottage until even James was compelled to take roost on one of the cushions. 

With gentle hands, Bruce reached to grasp the stone as if Steve’s skin was merely a suggestion. The gem flared bright, an exploding sun contained by stone and mortar. The after-image remained, blurring Bruce’s figure bent, whispering into the shell of Steve’s ear. 

When James’ eyes cleared, the gem sat inert in Bruce’s palm, and Steve himself was sitting taller, his smile rivaling the brightness of the dying star.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind stone soap made by chaosmanor. Made with a saponified olive oil, coconut oil, cacao butter, shea butter and castor oil to give a hard, cleansing soap suitable for hand-washing. Fragrance is lemon essential oil.


	5. Chapter 5

Comfort. Warmth. A stomach filled to satisfaction, all things the Ghost had experienced too little of. The Inn weeks ago had come close, but there had been too many travelers for James to let his guard down. 

James woke to Steve’s foot kicking him in the calf. A sharp, prickling reluctance lanced through him, the fleeting sensation that maybe he should roll over and go back to sleep on its wing. He didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep, or how he came to be arranged on the thick furs he shared with Steve by the fireplace; His eyelids must have grown heavy from the rabbit stew and blackberry mead Bruce had given in generous supply.

Steve shifted again in his sleep, face pinched and lips slightly apart. The familiar glow of him Seeing blazed behind his thin lids. 

“It must be a burden, don’t you think?” Bruce’s voice startled James, surprised that he’d let himself be so lax he hadn’t taken time to scan the room. Bruce sat in a lovingly polished chair at the window, a well-worn mug of tea in his hands. 

James looked between Bruce and Steve, “I don’t understand, what is?”

“The responsibility. Being an Oracle,” Bruce sipped at his mug, dozy expression unable to hide the depths of the Sage’s eyes. Deep pits that housed secrets of the ages.

Steve groaned gently in his sleep, hair in a wild tangle from his restlessness. “I don’t know what an Oracle is.” James hadn’t needed to know what exactly Steve was to kill him, or so his Masters thought. 

“An Oracle is — supposedly, a gift from the Gods. A direct link from them to mortal ears. There have been a number of them throughout time, in fact other kingdoms may have their own, but Steve was special. An...experiment, if you will.” Bruce’s gentle smile waned, “It’s not my tale to tell, but know this. He was a Seer before it all, a powerful one, and those visions alone are more than enough to drive some Seers mad.” Bruce got up, putting another kettle of water over the fire just as Steve rolled to his side.

He grumbled, pulling the edge of the blanket over his head. Splayed out like that on the furs, Steve didn’t look very divine in James’ opinion. “I don’t know how late in the morning it is, but it’s too early.” Steve pouted underneath the blanket.

“Too early for porridge and eggs?” Bruce went towards the door, where James could already hear his hens getting ready for their morning graze from the open window. 

Steve stilled a handful of seconds before heaving himself upright,” I don’t remember what porridge tastes like,” He tried in vain to tug some of the wayward knots from his hair.

“Then I’ll add extra honey,” Bruce decided before disappearing. 

James stood, more refreshed than he’d been in long, long weeks. The moment he’d stepped into the cottage the hornet’s nest filling his skull had quieted. Even Steve looked calmer, though if it was the Sage’s presence or the removal of the yellow stone, James didn’t know. 

Steve heaved a disgusted sigh and abandoned his hair, ”Do you know how to braid?”

The question hung in the air as James reached into his mind and — 

Surprised, James answered, ”Yes.” He actually did know how to braid hair though he had no recollection of _why_. 

He wasn’t able to linger long, not with Steve cocking an expectant brow at him from the floor. “Will you…?” 

Slowly, James lowered himself back to the furs, kneeling behind Steve. His first touch through Steve’s long hair was careful. He didn’t think tugging on Steve’s hair would gravely injure him, but he was reluctant to damage the fine waterfall of honey-blond hair. 

With infinitely more patience than Steve, James managed to untangle Steve’s hair and weave it into a series of interlocking braids that hung down to his waist while Bruce busied himself preparing breakfast. 

They spent too much time eating, or rather, Steve did, managing to shovel three bowls of porridge into his mouth while he and Bruce talked. The little fool didn’t stop until his bellyached and he had to lie on the furs again until his middle didn’t bulge from his gluttony. If James had felt like saying it out loud, he would have admitted to the honeyed-porridge being delicious, the fat berries sprinkled on top popping tart juice on his tongue. 

He hadn’t even asked for seconds, but Bruce had provided it as soon as Bucky’s spoon scraped the bottom of his bowl. 

Once Steve stopped threatening to vomit if he had to move, James readied his horse with the supplies Bruce had given them, as well as a thick fur, of which Steve was immensely thankful. 

Footsteps too heavy to be Steve’s pressed into the grass from a few paces off and James turned.

Bruce stepped up next to him, tucking a jug of mead into the saddlebag.”It’s mixed with a drought for dreamless sleep, for when the journey is hard.” Bruce explained, lingering. 

With a careful breath, Bruce drew himself up for a brief moment, only to collapse on the exhale. James had seen a strong plow horse in a field a week back, a proud beast bowed by a long boring life. Bruce reminded him of that horse, meant for more than just that plow. 

“Your mind isn’t your enemy, James. Embrace it, and answers will come.” In those few moments, James fell into Bruce’s kind eyes. Plummeting into a great unknown.

It wasn’t until they were back on the road, leaving the meandering path to the cottage, that James realized the swarm in his head was back and that the unknown had been something close to peace.

  
  
After some time Steve's (vague) directions lead them onto a well-traveled road. Though James grumbled that they should stay off the obvious pathways it was met with an insistent 'No, this way'.

Stretches of silence only punctuated by his horse’s hooves were nothing foreign to James, but to Steve, it was apparent torture. 

“This almost makes me long for the Cave. At least there I wasn’t aware of time.” Steve was sitting with his back against his, legs draped over the horse’s rump. Not at all a position to be in if they needed to make a quick getaway, but as long as Steve stopped squirming like a live eel, James could live with it.

“Would you rather the draught?” James found himself answering despite not being serious. Letting Steve drink the laced mead in the middle of the road would be the very last thing James would ever suggest. So why had he said it?

Behind him, Steve chortled.”Oh ha-ha, I — did you just make a joke?” Steve twisted, peering at James critically.

“Did I?” He’d never made one before. 

Apparent boredom forgotten, Steve smiled, nudging James in the side with one of his bony elbows. ”You did! The spell must be eroding more.” Steve continued to lay hands on him every morning and night, the persistent ache always lingering for hours after. 

Bucky hummed quietly in reply, silently wondering what all that could mean for him. He felt himself changing, little by little, and he wasn’t yet decided if that was a good thing.

Things leaked through when his mind was still. Morsels of long-uttered conversations, flashes of nondescript people, or the scent of fresh bread. Nothing concrete. Nothing to say why his only memories were that of waking up in agony with his Master looming above.

Emotions like ‘annoyance’ and ‘aggravation’ were cropping up more and more as the days went by, especially when Steve was acting childish about the silence of travel.

While his head throbbed, the brand on his arm _burned_. A feverish pain that Steve said he could do nothing for. A weapon sigil linked to whatever spell was woven into the very fabric of his mind. A ‘gift’ from his Master, no doubt meant to remind him of his leash. That he could fight and survive hardships by the grace of Hydra and Hydra alone. 

A mere handful of minutes before James wanted to suggest bedding down for the night he spotted firelight. 

“Look!” Steve, having since righted himself in the saddle, craned against James’ arm to see the colorful wagons arranged in a ‘C’ a few yards from the road. “They must be performers, things can’t have changed that much.” 

James urged the horse on, intent to move past the drifting music and laughter. 

“Wait, let’s say hello. Don’t leave just yet.” Steve tugged at his sleeve, doubling down when he tried to continue further still. ” _James_!”

Sighing, James redirected his horse’s path. ”Do the gods say we must spend the night with clowns?” He was learning to take things Steve ‘divined’ with a grain of salt as the Oracle was prone to using such methods to get his way. 

“Perhaps,” Smiling anew, Steve re-tied the strip of cloth around his forehead. 

A woman leaning against one of the wagon’s lowered her pipe as they approached, brow furrowing. She took a pull of rich smoke, the embers briefly warming a deep honey complexion melded with hints of verdant green. A descendent of a Nymph. James had stopped wondering how he knew such things and let the information come to him when it willed. 

What he did know was another predator when he saw one, and this woman was dangerous. At a quick glance, he could spot the outline of hidden daggers in her simple leathers, ritual scarring along her skin, and a stare that said she would have no issue in this encounter turning into a fight. 

“Yeah?” She inquired gruffly.

Steve’s eagerness waned, offering a small wave and a hesitant smile.”My apologies, I saw your wagons and — “

A loud whistle jerked everyone’s attention to the side as a man sauntered up, brown hair in a mess around his head. ”You look like a mean fellow!” He laughed in James' direction before his eyes trailed to Steve. “And you don’t, what can I do for you, friend?”

Bolstered by a friendlier face, Steve carefully lowered himself from the horse and James was quick to dismount after him.”We saw you from the road, and… It’s been a long while since I heard any music.” James barely resisted scowling. At least he had the reason for Steve’s insistence now. 

“Good ear. The name’s Peter, and this — “ The man, Peter, gestured grandly behind him as the group’s assorted members started to peer around the wagon to see what was going on.” — Is the Star-Lord Players, me being the Star-Lord of course.” He puffed out his chest, proud as a peacock.

“We never agreed on that name,” The woman with the pipe snipped, tapping out her pipe-ash into the grass. “This one smells like blood.” She gestured at James, hard eyes meeting his. 

Another woman leaned from behind the wagon, pink lips stretched into a friendly smile. ”It is alright! They are friends. I Saw them, a traveling star held in darkness. It is a good omen,” Rounding the corner, the young woman moved to clasp Steve’s hand before James could interject, not at all trusting a band of odd strangers anywhere near Steve.

Immediately, the two gasped, Steve’s eyes widening. 

“A friend,” Steve echoed as his grin renewed twofold. 

“They call me Mantis,” James didn’t see why for even though the woman had two flesh-toned antennae and solid black eyes there was very little else about her that would lend to that nickname. “This is Gamora, she keeps us safe, and — “

“ — I too, keep us safe!” A wide man with a booming voice stepped up behind Mantis, going out of his way to flex his girthy biceps. A half-giant etched in sprawling tattoos and scars even more intricate than that of Gamora. “Drax! Conqueror of men and master of strength.”

“We doing a full introduction here?” Two more ‘persons’ rounded off their numbers, and even they caused James to doubletake. The notion of a bipedal tree wasn’t strange to him, but one carrying a vaguely humanoid raccoon on its shoulder was. 

The raccoon sneered at him, ”Draw a picture, pretty-boy, it’ll last longer.” It hopped down from the Ent’s shoulder, descent slowed by dimly glowing runes drawn into the creature’s pants. 

“Rocky, be nice,” Mantis huffed fondly, ”This is Rocky and Groot, and we are family.”

Steve’s eyes swept around the group, something deep and unreadable within the depths of that gaze. ”My name is Steve, and this is my travel companion and guard, James.”

“You sure his name ain’t Killer? Looks like one to me, or — Lazarus.” Rocky supplied as he scritched a little hand over his stomach. 

Peter scoffed, ” _Lazarus_? That’s an awful name. He’s a Kyle if I ever saw one.”

“I’m confused, did the small one not say his name was James?” Drax interjected. 

James didn’t appreciate Steve’s poor attempt to hide his giggling. Beside him, Gamora rolled her eyes and pushed off the wagon. ”They’re always like this, by the way.” She walked back towards the fire and away from the squabbling. 

She was right, he realized later as he stood behind Steve who was perched on a crate utterly enthralled with the lively group. Firelight started casting busy shadows as the dusk faded into night as the group milled around, laughing, bickering, and being louder than James had ever witnessed anyone being in his stinted memory. 

The food, at least, was as warm and filling as the Sage’s they had left behind, if not a bit spicy. 

As they finished up their meal James felt the air shift at his left side and glanced down to see the creature called ‘Rocky’ peering up at him critically. 

“You smell of some strong spellwork, you know that?” Rocky sniffed for emphasis, eyeing the fabric stretched over his left bicep.

”So what is it? I’m a bit of a dabbler myself, usually on the weapons side of things,” Rocky rocked on his heels, patting strange, metal objects on his hips that gleamed with rubies chock full of magic intent. 

James’ eyes slid from the home-made weapons towards his own arm. Perhaps…”I don’t know, it was cast on me. I didn’t choose it.” Or, he didn’t think he did? He didn’t understand why anyone would accept a weapon that tried to pull his focus towards pain. 

He untied the strings of the leather piece connected to his main vest and pushed the fabric of his pitch undershirt away from his skin. The brand glowed a bright crimson on top of irritated skin, tendrils of black and orange swirling within the yarn-thick lines of a creature of the depths. 

Rocky whistled, ”Fuck me sideways, who’d you piss off?” He leaned up, sniffing again only to recoil in disgust.”Damn, strong stuff. Too many spells in that thing to sort it out, but it ain’t good.”

James looked at the ‘gift’ and the imagined thread that connected it to the mass of grey in his memories. ”I figured,” The corner of the right side of his lip tugged out in an expression he’d seen Steve make when he was talking about his own imprisonment.

A burst of laughter drew their attention towards the campfire. “Please, it will be fun!” Mantis held Steve’s hand, trying to coax him towards where Peter was obviously in some sort of duress considering how intently he was squirming around, but his bright smile said otherwise. 

“Rocky, come on! We need you, buddy,” Peter called pointing to where the ent-thing was strumming on an instrument made of his very own branches. 

Rocky immediately scrambled on top of a barrel, catching a bulky looking hand drum with more ease than James would have expected considering the drum was half as tall as the raccoon was. 

The burst of a shivering disk of bangles joined the din as Gamora smirked fondly towards the fire, tapping the broad instrument rhythmically against her hand in time with the others. Drax’s low hums swept over the tune, an instrument in its own right.

Music.

James walked closer, occupying the crate that Steve had abandoned as he was drawn to a clear patch of grass by Mantis’ hand.

Dancing. That’s what Peter was doing, and what Mantis wanted of Steve. James had forgotten. Forgotten like he’d forgotten music, the burst of sea-peppers farmed by the Merfolk, or that there was humor in watching someone dance as if they’d fallen into a nest of ants. 

James had thought Peter’s awkward gyrations were an affliction on his eyes, but Steve was hopeless. Mantis wasn’t any better than Peter but she tried valiantly to keep from getting her toes stepped on by Steve or their awkward bodies in sync. 

A thump cut off the drum beats as Rocky tumbled from his barrel in a fit of laughter sending his drum tumbling. Steve backstepped in surprise, and his heel knocked against the cylindrical base of the rolling instrument.

“Oh!” Mantis laughed, catching Steve by his arm and trying to prevent him from going sprawling but they both hit the ground in a tumble, laughing too hard to have any sense of coordination. 

Everyone laughed, save for James who was already springing to his feet. Gamora was the first to stop, eyes narrowing towards Steve. “The fuck is that on him?” She pointed, and Steve turned towards her causing the rest of his headband to slip down from his sweat-slick forehead.

James lunged over and grabbed Steve with one hand and drew his sword with the other before anyone had the chance to react outside of a stilted breath. He didn’t know what Steve looked like to outsiders, but the Sage had warned that those who looked at him too closely would always know. Covering up the gems only helped hide the obvious but Steve would always shine. 

Gamora would have to fall first. The raccoon or Peter next. He supposed a tree could be dangerous if — 

“ _Kickass_ ,” Peter breathed, “That’s some serious jewelry you got there.”

To their right, Rocky got up with as much dignity as he could manage, ”Told ya, reeked of complex hocus-pocus. I’m an expert at these things.”

“A good omen,” Mantis repeated from the ground and the tension drained from the area.

Steve beamed, shaking his arm in Bucky’s grasp in a silent ‘Let go’, though he knocked their shoulders together after a quiet ‘thank you’ uttered under his breath.

James, begrudgingly, sheathed his sword at Steve’s next request and they sat back down, this time with Steve’s hood lowered. By some blessing, Steve had enough sense not to say ‘Oracle’ outright, though James had the sneaking suspicion the Mantis girl knew anyway. She was a Seer in her own right, though the group said it wasn’t so much the future she saw, but anything with an inner light. 

“That’s a very special gift,” Steve agreed, voice barely heard over the crackle of the flames as Mantis gripped his hand loosely in hers. 

Mantis sniffed, large eyes staring into Steve’s, ”Yours is too. So special. I am glad to have met you and Seen this.” They embraced, though for what purpose James didn’t know. 

As they readied to bed down for the night, James bent down to rummage around the stripped saddlebags for a shirt. He’d need to rip it up for a fresh band to wrap around Steve’s head for the morning. Behind him, he heard Steve and Mantis approach, a constant duo for the time being.

“Good night, Steve.” Mantis bid, her footsteps starting to turn away. 

“I need to See you,” Her voice right over his shoulder made him drop the small knife he was using to tear the shirt to strips. “It could be everything.” Her hand descended against his neck faster than he’d thought a clumsy girl like herself could move.

James looked into her eyes as the blood drained from her already pale skin and her lips parted in a breath so sharp it strained her ribcage. Her face contorted as cold terror overtook her, staring off into the middle distance towards an unknown horror. 

Then she started screaming.

Mantis ripped her hand away, backing against a wagon in her desperation to get away. Even as her hip hit squarely against the wagon’s edge she didn’t stop the stomach-deep cries that tore from her throat in breathless undulations. 

It took nearly an hour for her voice to fade out to mumbled croaks of piteous, ”It ate him...it ate him...the darkness.” While fat tears were streaming down her cheeks. 

Her eyes never left him, eyes that managed to be so expressive despite their glossy black color, not until Steve offered the sleeping draught from Bruce plunged her into a boneless sleep. 

The other’s eyes didn’t stray away from him for long after that. There had been no mention of a watch before they made to bed down, but now Gamora sat high on one of the covered wagons, hand resting on a razor-thin dagger, peering at him through the dark.

Steve slept against his back, one hand balled into the fabric at James’ lower back so hard he could feel the fabric taut against his skin. As ridiculous as it was James thought Steve was trying to protect him, tethering himself to make sure no one came near and took him away i

They all pretended to sleep, ignoring the occasional whimpers of ‘ate him...darkness…’ from Mantis huddled against Drax’s hulking body.

  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

After meeting the entertainers James caught Steve looking at him sometimes at night after Steve had laid hands on him. The weight of his blue-green eyes heavy on James’ skin. As piece by piece was chipped away from the vast wall blocking off most of his mind James started to recognize the expression. Guilt, but guilt for what, James didn’t know. 

They hadn’t talked about that night which in itself felt telling. Normally Bucky couldn’t get Steve to be quiet on any subject that was on his mind, yet that morning after waking Steve had only checked on Mantis before they’d left, not even staying for breakfast, not that anyone had asked. 

They walked today, Steve desperate for a literal change of pace. “If I have to stay on that horse, day in, day out, I’ll die.” While James didn’t think one could actually _die_ just from riding a horse every day he acquiesced. His own legs could do for a stretch.

Steve trailed a few paces behind, crunching into a fat fruit plucked from a tree long past. A pouch in the saddlebag bulged with the purple and green fruits that James didn’t know the name of( Steve didn’t either for that matter), but when asked how he knew they were safe to eat Steve had just shrugged and said, “I just do.” Which James knew to be code for ‘Don’t question it, I’m an Oracle’.

Around midday, James noticed something sprouting from the dirt and bent to pick a glittering silver flower with his left hand. 

“They’re beautiful,” Steve was awed, bending to pick his own.

James snagged his hand and jerked him away from the flower, holding out his left hand so Steve could see the blistering skin beginning to break and ooze in every place the flower’s stem and petals had touched. The brand on his arm warmed to blazing and the poison faded from his skin. 

Dropping the deadly flower, Bucky clenched and unclenched his fist until the skin had repaired itself. ”Dragon’s Tongue. We’re near the Elven Wilds.” Images of arrows zinging through the air flickered in his mind’s eye. Screams rent the night air as an arrow bit into a Hydra agent’s flesh, corrupting the limb from the inside out until the very flesh melted away into a lumpy puddle at the man’s feet. 

Dragon’s Tongue concentrated and coated on a sword or arrow could decimate an army with only a fraction of the numbers needed by their wielders. James couldn’t recall when or where he’d seen it, yet like other memories he took it as it came.

“Oh?” Steve was a little more cautious walking after that yet seemed supremely unconcerned with their trajectory. 

James had a growing suspicion he knew why, ”Is the next Sage in the Wilds?”

“Most likely,” Steve shrugged, “I never knew much about the Wilds, only that the name was ridiculous. It’s about as wild as any other land around here. Probably named by sore losers.”

“Most history is,” The response came easily, even if James understood the irony of someone like him saying it. It had just felt right. 

They neared a lazy river pocked with more Dragon’s Tongue, wide enough to be hindering but shallow enough that they could cross easily on foot. Or James could, at least, swinging Steve up onto the horse before Steve could even think of protesting. Not that it stopped him once he was up there.

James knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into the river. 

The air on the other side of the river shimmered at the same moment the water began to rapidly turn into ice. He jerked his foot back a mere second before it would have been encased, anchoring him to the riverbed. 

“Shield!” Steve cried, fumbling the reins to one hand so he could sweep his other out. As a dozen soldiers stepped out from a magic user’s cloaking spell, Steve’s eyes flared brightly and the ice melted in one great crack, forcing the enemy into the river.

“Stay back,” James drew his sword in his right hand, left tensing as magic filled it.

“And watch you die?” Steve scoffed, “They won’t risk killing me,” He added, splashing down into the river as the soldiers advanced.

James didn’t have time to argue. He batted an arrow from connecting with his chest with his spelled hand the same moment he surged through the water, rushing the soldiers before they could advance. 

Distantly, he knew Steve volleyed spells, taking out one of the Shield mages muttering bolstering spells into the Soldier’s bodies with a burst of concussive force.

A sword bit into his cheek and James spun with the blow, turning in an elegant spin that ended with him neatly lopping off the attacker’s head. Seconds after, another blade caught his thigh, nearly sending him into the water. 

He’d already dispatched five of them within seconds, but they had thicker armor than him, all laden thick with expert spellwork afforded by a prosperous kingdom.

As he was bringing his sword back up, James heard a frustrated curse behind him as Steve was tugged under the water by the remaining magic user’s gesture, an invisible watery grip starting to tug him through the shallows. 

Before he had a hope to recover Steve the river around him shrank away, leaving him sputtering and coughing on dry land surrounded by a circular wall of water. “Damn this, James, hold steady!” He hissed and the gems adorning his body shined with a blinding light. 

James had just enough time to dig his fist into the soil as the water heaved. He watched as the water receded even further and roared forward, elongating into great spears. Even the soldier’s master-spelled armor couldn’t deflect the blades of water that skewered them through, carrying them past the shore until even the frantically muttering mage fell under the onslaught. It was over within seconds, the bloodied water receding back into the riverbed to continue on its way, carrying the corpses along with it. 

Steve wavered, and this time James got to him quick enough before he could fall into the river. 

“There’s...more coming...I can feel them now.” Steve panted, grasping James’ arm to help haul himself upright. 

Right on cue, a horse whinnied in the distance and the rhythmic rumble of hooves biting earth reverberated in James’ ears. With Steve so taxed already, there was nothing to do but run. 

James got them both to the shoreline to get to his horse, who despite nickering with wide eyes had stayed like the trained beast it was. 

There were more this time, led by two mages that wove wind at their backs and another that whispered rejuvenation into their horses. James and Steve wouldn’t have much time to get distance between them before it was hopeless.

It turned out, they didn’t have to. 

One moment there was nothing but sparse trees, the river, and an oncoming cavalry, and the next figures in swirling cloaks stepped not from magic curtains, but literal void space blacking out sections of the landscape. 

There were only six in total, but six was all it took. 

Arrows sang, first striking the mages and then moving on to the normal soldiers. One by one they fell with shrieks of agony, plummeting to the ground in a jumble of limbs. The ones able enough to move writhed and clawed at the arrows, frantically trying to dislodge the barbed tips from their bubbling flesh. And despite the carnage, not one horse was hit.

Steve wretched between his arms but thankfully avoided vomiting on the horse’s neck. 

In the middle of him trying to regain control of his stomach, Steve pushed weakly at James’ hand on the reins, ”S...stay.” He urged, seeing the half-dozen cloaked figures in the distance turn towards them. Three stayed behind to wrangle the now riderless horses while the remaining three started towards them. 

Reluctantly, James nudged the horse to walk across the river to meet them on the other side.

The figure flanked between two others lowered her hood, dark hair falling from the wide hood to frame a distinctively feminine face, only the tips of her long, tapered ears peeking from the curtain of her hair. “When Clint said we needed to go rescue someone, I didn’t think he meant ‘Kill some Shield jerks’. I wouldn’t have complained so much had I known.” She smirked, cocking her hip as she gave them a once-over as they stood there, soggy, James bleeding, and overall exhausted. 

“Welcome, Oracle, The Sage has been waiting for you.”

Steve sagged in the saddle,”Oh, thank the gods.”

“I don’t know anything about your gods, but if you want to thank anyone, thank Clint. Or me, I’ll take it.” She winked, “Kate, if you want to know.” She turned and stuck two fingers in her mouth, whistling so sharp and loud James’ horse knickered her displeasure.

The elves gathering the horses and picking the bodies clean waved and began to haul their spoils towards them. 

“My name is Steve, this is my companion, James.” Steve introduced them, trying not to look directly at one of the horse that was splattered with its deceased rider’s blood and...drippings. 

Kate looked James over from head to toe, eyes narrowing. ”You’re Hydra, aren’t you?”

Before James could reply, Steve interjected, ” _Was_ , Hydra. He is my guard now, and I will vouch for him.” His tone dared her to argue, nevermind him still looking pale and queasy. 

Chortling, Kate rolled her eyes. ”Settle, Gifted One, we won’t skewer the Oracle’s vassal.” She assured.

Not that it settled Steve in any way,”He’s not my — “

“Come,” Kate interrupted sharply and turned. As soon as she swung around, a void opened in the air the width of a cart and the height of James with a half to spare. 

The first group led the horses through without prompt, walking into the darkness without hesitation. Once the last horse disappeared, Kate motioned them on.”If you want to meet with the Sage, this is the only way.” She warned.

Steve turned in the saddle to look at James, ”We should,” His tone sounded soft...reassuring?

James glanced down to see his hands in a vice around the reins, brows pulling. Forcing his hands to relax, he nodded, urging the nervous horse towards the black nothingness blocking out the field stretched on either side.

Darkness folded around them, endless, meaningless. He leaned forward in the saddle, his arms pinning Steve in against him. Something in the back of his mind said the void had fangs, waiting to snatch you up. 

As quickly as they descended into the nothingness, they emerged in a burst of blinding light. James hissed a quiet note of discomfort, turning his eyes to the dirt until his eyes could adjust. 

Steve wiggled in front of him and James held him tighter, bidding him to be still. For once, Steve obeyed, albeit with a loud long-suffering huff.

Slowly, James looked up, taking in the massive trees looming above them as far up as his eyes could see. Firelight danced among their boughs and every once in a while Bucky saw movement of fleet feet leaping from branch to branch. Laughter wafted down from the heights and animals clucked or bleated at the base of the trees. At first, James thought the structure at the base of the trees were just that, built up around the massive trunks, but he was wrong. They had been _grown_ in that shape, living buildings within the dominating forest.

Kate whistled again from meters away, motioning them onwards through a series of winding paths. Even with his superior sense of direction, James was soon lost. He’d identify one tree with a unique marking only to see it minutes later facing another direction. 

“It’s beautiful,” Steve whispered, reaching out as they passed a vast, pale brown tree with high branches and tufted with feathery leaves threaded with purple veins. 

“One of the lands untouched by human influence, they’re growing rarer day by day.” Kate grumbled bitterly, ”We’ve managed to stay out of the Shield’s treaties for now, but who knows for how much longer. “ 

It felt like they took one simple turn and the forest opened up to them, revealing a sprawling city nestled comfortably in and among the ancient trees. From snowy birch to thick oak, trees of every hue made up the landscape, hulking and domineering in their splendor. 

Steve craned his neck back until his head bumped James’ chest. “I am admittedly not...fond of heights.” He muttered with a shy smile, “Is the Sage…?”

Kate snickered, ”Peace, Clint is just there.” She pointed to the city’s center where an archway led into a birch tree that was a fraction of the size of some of the giants looming nearby.

Although Steve looked eagerly around the city with relative ease, James stayed battle-ready. There were more people here than he could keep track of, and who knew if they all carried the deadly arrows. He healed quickly thanks to his spelled arm, but who knew if it would work fast enough to counteract the concentrated poison. 

One of Steve’s pale hands wrapped around his wrist. “Calm, there is no danger here,” Steve whispered, his soothing smile a balm. 

“I’m not meant to be here, Steve.” Bucky rumbled, feeling a distinct sense of _wrong_. 

“You are,” Steve’s confidence bit into the lingering discomfort. James knew that Steve was wrong, that a person like him in a city of light was a stain, but it was...pleasant? To hear Steve say otherwise.

He hadn’t forgotten Mantis screaming. The terror in her eyes as she looked at him. It was the first time he realized he was _Other_ ; something not quite human anymore. The first time he realized he cared that there was a difference.

Still, he followed in Steve’s wake, drawing closer to the tree, trying to fight the urge to draw his sword as they passed through the arch, leaving his horse behind. 

Immediately, the archway gave way to a vast hall, deeper and wider than even the cave James had found Steve in. Firelight globes bobbed in smooth alcoves within the tree, illuminating the soft wood hues and the purple tapestries draped over elegant bows. The sharp scent of a brewed beverage hung in the air, something painfully familiar, but nothing James could identify. 

Towards the center of the room, an elf sat on the floor, making ridiculous faces at a dopey-faced hound. The hound turned its great head, blinking its only good eye and giving a basal ‘woof’. The elven man turned, warm eyes crinkling up as they approached.

“Good, Kate got to you in time.” The elf greeted, standing up and making a vain attempt to brush off the shaggy wheat-colored dog hair from his dark purple trousers. “I spotted you a few days ago, thought I’d keep a watch.” He winked as if that was supposed to be a joke.

Steve held a hand out to the hound, who sniffed at his it. “We’re grateful you did, or else — “ His face scrunched up as wet tongue wider than his hand slid up not only his palm but his forearm as well.

The elf laughed uproariously, ”Lucky! Down boy, don’t eat the Oracle.” He bent slightly to give the big beast a fond thump on his shoulder, ”Don’t mind Lucky, he likes people.” James eyed the hound, conscious of the gleaming fangs hidden behind a soft muzzle that could bleed a man dry in the blink of an eye. Likes to eat people, James would believe. 

“He’s definitely friendly,” Steve chuckled, looking down as he wiped his hand off.

The elf’s face creased, ”Mind facing me when you talk? Makes it easier,” The elf tapped against the side of his head. 

“Of course, but why — Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t notice.” Steve flushed, both he and James reaching the same conclusion at once. James should have realized sooner, with his training, but the elf’s vocal cadence and lip reading were impeccable. 

“Not to worry. The name is Clint, and I think you’re after this,” Clint motioned behind him to a purple door that James knew hadn’t been there the last time he blinked. It was only a few meters from them, ornate in its carvings, something that would have stood out when his eyes first swept the room. 

Steve smiled, giving ‘Lucky’ another fond pat as Clint turned and led them to the mysterious door. 

“Step through here, and I’ll do what you’re after,” Clint’s smile was open and carefree, but such was why James hesitated. 

“Why? Why do we have to relocate?” James pressed, reaching out to catch Steve’s bicep. 

Snorting, Clint gripped the golden doorknob, ”Because that’s how magic works, handsome.” 

Steve tittered, reaching back to tug James gently forward, ”It’ll be alright, trust me?”

James’ jaw tensed, teeth grinding together. Did he trust Steve? More than anyone else, that was for sure, yet he didn’t know if that measurement was enough when he was convinced of knives in every shadow. 

He loosened his grip, and Clint beamed. ”Great! You’re going to want to hold your breath.” Before they had a chance to ask why, the door opened, and they fell within.

Everything tilted on its axis, and James flailed, Steve lost from his grip. Cool water met his skin, tugging at his armor, crushing him from all sides. 

_Ice bit his skin, fire consumed his veins. He was drowning, parched, besieged from all sides. He screamed, thrashing in the void, begging for it to end. Even as his voice gave way to screeched gasps, he fought, but no matter how much he struggled, the tendrils closed in. They wrapped around him, tugging him up into the vast emptiness._

_“Arise, Arise in the name of Hydra.”_

A warm hand gripped his own, and James’ eyes snapped open. Light shining through the waves above framed Steve’s hair, drifting in the surf in sparkling undulations. Steve’s eyes were the color of the water, soft, reassuring seafoam.

Steve guided him up, and together they swam, climbing higher and higher towards the sunlight.

Warmth greeted their breach, the greedy lungfuls of perfumed air unable to quell the panic gnawing at his gut.

“Shore is just there,” Steve gestured with a sodden sleeve in the distance, pointing to a sandy beach too pale to be any shore James knew. It was the only land James could spot, so he swam on, making sure to keep pace with Steve even if his instincts were telling him to rush towards the beach. He could feel eyes in the water, deep and fathomless. 

Their feet trudged up on the bright shore, and James stared, marveling at iridescent sand that glimmered underneath their feet. A trillion pearls ground into fine dust, sparkling with each wave’s kiss. 

“My landing probably wasn’t the best,” Their heads snapped up in time to see Clint straighten from the sand, holding a flat shell and acting as if he had been there the entire time when everybody knew he hadn’t. 

“Where have you taken us!” James didn’t care if Steve bid him peace, he drew his sword, lips curled in a bitter snarl. 

Clint looked utterly unimpressed, smirking at Steve, ”I don’t think your friend here really gets it, does he?”

“Don’t make fun, he has a right to be suspicious.” It was such a shock to hear Steve chastise the Sage that James lowered his defenses just enough to glance behind him, spotting Steve’s head tilted up just slightly. An expression James knew to mean Steve meant business. 

Rolling his eyes, Clint reared back his hand and skipped the shell across the water, sending it into the distance before it sank. “No fun.”

Their eyes looked from the shell’s trajectory back to Clint, just to find the beach vacant once more, the only souls as far as the eye could see their own.

A handful of hours later found James restlessly pacing the sand, orbiting Steve, who seemed utterly content in sitting in the pearlescent sand. 

“We’ve been tricked,” James’ hand itched to draw his sword, fight an enemy that wasn’t there. Anxiety was not an emotion known to him. What use would a Ghost have for fear? It would only make him sloppy.

Steve flipped a spiral shell between his fingertips, ”The Sage would have no need for that.”

“Why not? Were they not the ones that tethered you with the gems in the first place?” It had been nagging James for weeks. Why would the Sages be so willing to cooperate when they were obvious collaborators?

That finally drew Steve’s attention from playing in the sand, “The Sages have connections to the All in a more direct way than I do and they are governed by different paths than I am. Even I don’t know their motivation, I only Knew that they would help me.”

James scoffed and turned on his heel, ”Gods...What rights do they have to play with their creations as if we are children’s toys? What use?” There was a viciousness there he didn’t know the origin of, it was just a bleak trickle, a continuous drip that eroded the steel within one drop at a time.

“Be it Gods or just the culmination of the All, who knows? As long as there is no retribution for me giving back these gifts, I will assume there are no objections.” Steve rolled his eyes and laid back in the sand, yawning quietly. “We should rest.”

There was a definiteness in Steve’s voice that always made James’ steps slow and listen. He still didn’t know the reach of Steve’s power, or if the bulk of it was just performance, but James couldn’t help but think there was something to it. 

“Are you..?” James sat down, leaving it open-ended. Steve had laid his hands on his head every night since being free. 

“No,” Steve stared up at the dark sky tinged green, “I can’t feel the Gods here.” It was said so simply James didn’t understand the weight of that until long after Steve fell asleep. As his eyes tracked the path of a falling star, he wondered about the enormity of the All for the first time, and his place in it.

He woke to water.

James blinked, drunkenly stumbling back to dig his heels into the shifting sand. His arms splashed in the water, one tightly balled around one of his daggers. The waves lapped at his thighs, more insistent in their pull than the day prior. 

He heaved, no contents in his stomach to vomit since the horse had all their supplies. 

“Are you back to yourself?” Steve’s voice drifted from the shoreline, his own small fist coiled around the petite dagger James had given him for when magic inevitably failed him. 

Groaning, James sheathed his own dagger and straightened, vision momentarily swimming. His head ached fiercely as if it had been replaced with bricks in the night. 

“I...think.” He managed, stumbling a few more steps before he struggled towards shore. Once he was mostly out of the surf he sat hard in the damp sand, shivering through aftershocks from some nameless horror. 

He heard Steve’s relieved sigh even meters away. ”You were out there nearly an hour, you scared me. My magic is limited here and I wouldn’t have been able to save you,” Steve knelt beside him on the side opposite of the dagger. Smart.

A burst of bitterness surfaced, ”Why would you bothe — “

The quiet shift of sand snapped James’ attention behind them, and there stood Clint, smiling easily while clutching a sleek mass of multi-colored feathers. “Decided to go swimming?” He chirped. 

In his uncoordinated state, James didn’t so much as leap to his feet but lurched to an ungainly sway. “You! Where is this place, what have you — “

“Going to interrupt there just a little bit, but this guy — “ Clint held up the bird,”-- is getting warm, and if you want that gem off...”

Steve perked up, “Yes, please, if you would,” He thrust the blue-gemmed wrist towards Clint, desire close to mania in his eyes. 

Eyeing James for further interruptions, Clint gathered the shining bird in his hand, large head falling to the side with the vacant stare of death. And yet, despite the reaper’s hand, it was beautiful. As beautiful and wondrous as the strange world the Sage had brought them to. 

Clint slid a reverent hand down the radiant feathers, bypassing the arrow still protruding from its breast. A second later Clint deftly severed the bird’s head with a small knife. 

Steve didn’t get time to recoil in disgust as Clint unceremoniously tipped the bird’s headless body over his prone wrist. Silvery blood dripped over the gem, and Steve yelped, snapping his hand back to his chest in visible pain.

“What did I say about that thing?” Clint squeaked as the tip of James’ blade came to rest under his chin. “He’s fine, look.”

Steve peered down at his wrist, and a cautious prod had the blood-tainted gem dropping to the sand, now a lump of inert grey. “It’s gone! Thank you so…” Steve trailed, blinking awkwardly, ”Oh.”

Clint offered a small, knowing smile. ”Weird, right? That will keep happening, with everyone you remove. It’s not too late to stop.”

James had already learned questioning Steve’s convictions never had the outcome one desired. So he watched as a storm crept over Steve’s face, his small body seemingly so much larger by the sheer strength of his presence. 

“You mean do I wish to claim myself as my own again? Then yes.” The answer jolted through James, resonating in the empty halls that made up his mind where screams were kept behind padlocks. 

Clint’s smile broadened, and he clapped his hands together. ”Great answer, you’ll want to go through there then.” He jerked his thumb towards a door standing in the middle of the endless sand, intricate goldsmithing curling around a solid stone frame. 

James didn’t question the appearance of the door this time, only keeping Clint in his sights as he followed Steve towards the door. It was in the moments he was forced to break his eyeline to heft the massive door open that he lost sight of Clint, the body of the bird already decayed and soured in the sand the only sign he’d ever been there.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Space stone soap made by chaosmanor. Made with saponified olive oil, coconut oil, cacao butter, shea butter and rice bran oil to give moisturising suds. Fragrance contains notes of bergamot, lemon, lime, grapefruit, jasmine, lavender, cardamom, melon, rose, musk, sandalwood, vanilla and amber.


	7. Chapter 7

Water met them once more, this time falling hard from the sky bright with streaks of lightning chased by the roar of thunder. A flash lit up their surroundings, walls of jagged rocks around them glistening with pouring rain. 

James seethed. Where in the hell were they? No matter where he looked he only saw rock, slick and dangerous. 

A few yards from them, his horse whinnied, startling them both into staring. She was stamping anxiously in the rain, saddlebags bulging with supplies where they had drooped near empty before. 

Steve hurried to grasp her reins, his other hand petting gently against her nose. ”Shh, good girl.” He whispered, paying more attention to the horse than himself. 

James pulled Steve’s cloak from the bags and dropped it over Steve’s head, grumbling that the horse had more sense than Steve. He didn’t put on his own. 

Taking another look around, James spied a narrow path hewn into the stone, cramped, but the horse would be able to walk through. Whistling through the sounds of thunder, he motioned for Steve and the beast to follow.

The going was treacherous, water sweeping through the narrow path at their feet, tripping up Steve’s shorter, lighter frame the deeper they went. His hands grasped at James’ back, hooking into the hardened leather vest to keep himself trudging forward. 

It felt like hours into the pitch storm for their path to deviate, splitting off into two wider trails, one going up, and the other sloping down. James took a step towards the descent, but instead, Steve tugged hard at his back.

“No!” He shouted over the storm, ”We need to go up.” Lighting streaked, the distant splintering crack of it shattering some unfortunate part of the landscape. 

“The storm will drown you,” James growled, reaching up to grasp at a lip in the wall, only for the stone to chip and break away under his gloves. All it would take was one good strike against the shale for a rockslide to seal their fate.

But Steve only planted himself firmly and tugged James towards the ascent once more, eyes luminous in the chaos of the storm. A tingle sparked through James’ back, a whisper of magic that made up Steve’s normally unassuming aura not turned overwhelming. Where good sense told James it was suicide he grit his teeth and altered their path. He always did when Steve stood before him, looking as if he was prepared to fight for his conviction. 

The path widened eventually, and with it came the presence of eyes. 

James could feel them against the back of his neck, full of intent. Steve crowded at his side, casting leery glances around them as he too realized they were not alone. 

They needed to climb over a tumble of fallen rocks, carefully coaxing the mare over the mound. Flashes sparked above, their line of sight giving way to a large shelf in the mountain’s side.

The area plunged back into darkness, and somewhere within, was a hiss. 

James had just enough time to shove Steve back against the horse and draw his sword before a tail as thick as a tree’s trunk slammed into his side and sent him sprawling. 

Rising from an unseen pocket in the mountain a wyrm slithered, thick droplets of greenish venom dripping from its forearm-length fangs. With each flash of lighting the creature’s movements shifted, the massive shadow craning up the mountain behind it. The afterimages burned into Bucky’s retinas, the glow of the thing’s outline shifting in the shadows.

One moment it reared up, posturing its flicking tail in the light of the storm, and the next it was gone, lost to the night. 

James rolled, narrowly escaping getting flattened by another strike from its tail covered in jagged scales. It was quick, quicker than anything that size had any right to be. Almost as soon as James got to his feet he was knocked off of them again, gritting his teeth in pain as one of the scales caught on his pants and ripped right through to his calf. 

He struck out with his sword, anticipating the creature’s brutal assault. The tip of the sword bit it in the darkness, the wyrm’s enraged screech illuminated not by lighting but a burst of incandescent light. 

“I can’t hold this for long!” Steve shouted, hands thrust into the sky, white-hot light pouring from his palms, sparking motes into the rain. All around him the rain parted, a dome of radiant light that burned with direct sight. 

It was more than enough for James to see the wyrm in its entirety, and how it shrieked against the light. 

Gold chains rattled against the obsidian horns sprouting from its spiky crown, not ones meant for binding, but delicate decorations fixed to the horns with thin bands of gold. Everywhere along its deep blue and green scales glittered opulence, from rubies to diamonds, even specks of gold flakes no bigger than a fingernail.

Its head turned towards Steve, black pupils narrowing to slits against crimson irises. 

James charged before the wyrm could finish rearing up, slashing to sheer scales from the serpent’s hide in a spray of riches and blood. Its head whipped around and collided into him, but the brand on his arm bloomed to life in the same moment, taking the brunt of the force. His feet skidded across the stone, but he stayed planted, forcing the creature back with the burning force of his spelled body. 

Shifting his sword into his right hand, James lashed out with his left, punching the serpent hard enough to send it toppling to the ground. 

The light from Steve’s hands started to dim, the dome’s reach slowly receding. His body quivered from the strain, but he never looked away from the spell’s genesis in his palms. 

With blood slicking the inside of his pant leg, James ran, pushing his sword into his spelled hand to prepare a killing strike to the wyrm’s head.

His sword never met flesh.

Verdant green mist billowed into the clearing from where the wyrm’s body had been seconds before, rolling across them in a choking tide. The light died from Steve’s hand, the sound of him coughing muffled by the return of the storm.

The mist clung to James’ nose and throat as he took a staggering step towards Steve. He didn’t make it three before the dizziness set in, the stone undulating under his feet. James tripped over a crack, and fell into the dark nothing. 

Rocks scraped against the thick, well-crafted leather of his chest piece. James grimaced, blinking groggily up at the torch-lit ceiling that passed overhead. Dimly, he registered he was being dragged by an intense grip around his ankles.

Beside him, Steve’s quiet groan was nearly lost in the distant thunder — no, not thunder. It was the sound of a forge, rhythmic booms of a hammer on an anvil as biting as lightning and as loud as the storm outside the mountain had been. 

The ceiling opened into a massive hall so deep and vast James couldn’t see the top, just an endless stretch of torches leading up, up, up. 

Soon the pressure against his ankles disappeared and they stopped, Steve’s arm twitching weakly against his own. His limbs were weighty and his mind as slow as sap but he forced himself to blink and rouse enough to roll over. 

A low, familiar hiss prickled at the back of his neck. He turned his head, watching the wyrm slither from the shadows, sharp scales digging into the stone in powerful undulations. As it grew closer, it coiled and changed. Scales rippled and fell away, shimmering out of existence and revealing cyanide blue skin.

From the mass of the serpent rose a being, long limbs straightening from a crouch with a lazy stretch.

“What have I caught, I wonder?” The person smirked, tapping a slender finger against their sharp jawline.

The opulence of the serpent had carried over to them, their mostly-nude body draped in jewelry and shining stones. Even the long fall of raven black hair was held at bay by strings of black pearls and a polished torque of expertly woven metal. They were beautiful in the same way the Dragon’s tongue flowers were beautiful. One touch might spell their demise. 

James backed against Steve, shaking his arm to rouse him, never letting his eyes stray from the looming figure. He wasn’t accustomed to feeling small, but the being was tall, not so much as a giant, but James assumed they would have several feet on him if he was on his feet. 

“We’ve come...to see the Sage.” Steve ground out beside him as he too struggled to sit up, swaying faintly but no less determined. 

The being’s eyes narrowed, ”Why?” Their hand strayed into their hair, combing non-existent tangles from the strands. 

Steve glanced at James, bit the inside of his lip, then pointed to the ruby gem above his right brow.

Their eye’s zeroed in, and James lunged, batting away the dagger aimed right at Steve’s chest. He’d barely seen the being’s hands move away from the curtain of hair. It was close, too close. 

“You don’t need the Sage, I’d be more than happy to take them from your corpse.” Their blue lips twisted into a smile as they produced two more daggers from their hair, scarlet pupils shrinking into serpentine slits. 

James picked up the fallen dagger and surged to his feet nearly tripping in his hurry, body still weighted bricks from the gas. Despite the dizziness, he charged. The surprise attack was met with a brief clash of steel, and James was repelled, staggering back on drug-addled feet. 

A burst of warm air buffeted him from behind, the scent of spring flowers filling his nose, sweeping away the lethargy from his body. Behind him, the glow from Steve’s eyes faded and he gasped, slower to get to his feet. Fatigued as he looked, whatever magic he’d used to purge their systems had worked. 

A growl bubbled from James’ chest, and his arm ignited with pain. The neck strike took the being off their feet, crashing them into one of the towering pillars disappearing up into the fathomless ceiling. 

They rolled to the side before James could punch through them, destroying the base of the pillar instead. The stone wobbles, shearing through the base from the damage and tilting to the side. A rumbling crash above rained chunks of stone down around them as the pillar leaned precariously against a neighbor, kept upright for the time being.

James didn’t stop, throwing himself into strike after strike which the being met with infuriating deftness. A line of fire opened over the back of his hand as a dagger broke skin. A glancing hit, but enough to hurt. He rewarded the effort by striking at their midsection, biting into skin and sending a handful of beads severed from a chain to the ground. 

A punch from his spelled hand connected, but for every hit he managed, the being landed one of their own, never striking as deep as intended, but enough to bleed him. 

Another burst of magic from Steve’s direction turned the ground underneath their feet into a mire, and James flipped the dagger in his grip, aiming for a killing strike. Or he would have if the being’s body didn’t blur and split into two others, all sporting daggers and a smug smile.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll end this.” They smirk, mimicking James’ dagger flip with one of their own. 

Preparing for the onslaught, James positioned in between Them and Steve. The three figures charged, then a few feet from James, they stopped, eyes widening. 

Silence reigned, the great hall as silent as the grave.

“Shit,” The duplicates snapped back into the original, and they ran, though this time it was _away_. Not that they got far. As soon as they made to step into the shadows, a thick arm meet them, grabbing them around their narrow waist.

“We have guests!” A voice boomed, the silence giving way to a man’s loud, boisterous laughter. A man dragged the blue being along with him despite being smaller, though calling this man ‘small’ was laughable, only dwarfed by the comparison to the raven-haired serpent. His thick mane of dark blond hair was braided and hung down against one shoulder, torque similar to the deep grey metal his companion wore set on his crown. He wore supple leathers and furs, all tailored to his thick build, stocky and layered with muscle. 

“Unhand me, you idiot.” Despite looking so frightened before the ‘giant’ grumbled and squirmed half-heartedly in his grip.

The man sheathed a menacing hammer carried in his free hand on his hip and pulled their companion into their arms with a look so besotted it was saccharin. ”Hush, Loki. You’ve made a great fuss while I work,” He patted ‘Loki’ on the hip and let them go only to turn to James and Steve.

“Greetings! Forgive my tardiness, I was unaware there were guests. Come, let us get you warm and dry.” He ushered them towards a stone-carved table in the middle of the room lined with fur-covered benches. “Oh, I’ve been rude, I am Thor, Sage of Power and keeper of this mountain and the storms above. And this — “ He pointed to the serpent-being sitting primly at the table, lips pursed in obvious displeasure, ” — is Loki, enchanter of spells, and of my heart.”

Loki scoffed, cheeks deepening in a blue-purple blush, ”Be quiet before you embarrass us both.” 

Steve’s weight leaned against James’ arm, and he looked down, noting the exhaustion straining the corners of Steve’s eyes. ”If you are the Sage, then you must know why I’ve come.” He walked forward, standing straight and tall even as his damp clothing clung to his skin, draining the heat from his already pale skin. 

James walked after him, refusing to leave Steve’s side with Loki in the same vicinity. “Stop, Steve.” He reached to grasp Steve’s shoulder, ”The last Sage had his own tricks, and now this one has a companion that tried to kill us.” He was done playing games with these beings that were supposedly so wise they were wielders of knowledge of the All. So far, he had only seen tricksters. 

“James — “ Steve’s brows furrowed to admonish him yet Thor raised a hand with a warm chuckle.

“No, it is alright my friends. I understand your hesitance. My Loki is a greedy one, for all their gifts.” Thor looked over at his lover, slightly exasperated but no less moony-eyed. ”Having the Stones unattended was a temptation they apparently could not resist, and for that, you have my sincerest regrets. Once I hear your request, I will have your injuries attended and you will rest, knowing the hospitality of the Prince of Storms.” As if to punctuate Thor’s smile thunder boomed outside the mountain, sending a reverberation through the great hall. 

James’ didn’t let go of Steve’s shoulder, and at length, Steve heaved a resigned sigh and let it be. ”I’ve come to ask you to remove the gem you gifted me some seventy years ago.”

Thor’s brows climbed, and for the first time, a frown tugged at his lips. ”Are you sure? The Stone aids your power. Without it, your abilities will weaken. You were given it to aid the good of the Kingdoms.”

James’ hand tightened on Steve’s shoulder, but Steve spoke up without prompting.”The good of the Kingdom comes at too great a price. One that I feel I have paid, and more.” Steve reached to place a hand over James’, squeezing gently. 

“I see,” Thor shrugged, ”It is a great burden, and it’s been a great many years, hasn’t it?” James was certain a flicker of something colder and more desolate took the sunshine warmth from Thor’s eyes for such a brief moment he couldn’t trust he’d seen it at all. “I will remove it.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. If your quest is to find all of us, removing this now will make it harder to find the others. Do you now wish to find the others, then return to us?” Thor asked as he guided them to sit down, his bulk even making James feel childlike. Steve couldn’t weigh more than one of the smith’s thick legs. 

Steve shook his head, sighing heavily. ”No, it has to happen this way, I’m afraid.” They shared a look James couldn’t decipher, and Thor’s smile dimmed just slightly.

“I suppose you would know, young Oracle. Brace yourself.” With a touch more delicate than his broad hands suggested, Thor reached to press his fingertips to Steve’s forehead. The moment his fingernails dug against the gem a blinding red light filled the hall, and Steve gasped, going rigid in his seat. 

The gem came away in Thor’s hand, and Steve slumped like a ragdoll into James’ arms. Thor patted Steve’s knee and took the stone in his hand to press it to his own forehead. 

“Thor, if you would — “ Loki began, making to stand. 

“No, my heart, and forevermore, no.” Thor laughed, and another pulse of light momentarily blinded James. When his vision cleared the gem had found a new home in the middle of Thor’s polished hammer. 

Thor stood, reaching to guide James to follow. James held Steve protectively to his chest, uncaring that he smeared blood against Steve’s clothing.

“The springs of the mountain will renew his vigor, worry not.” Thor assured, “But it heartens me to see the Oracle has found such a devoted partner. No warrior should walk alone.” Loki scoffed behind him, and James only nodded, unsure of what Thor meant when he said ‘partner’. Steve blushed in his arms, too worn thin to engage the loud Sage any longer. 

They were led to a bed-chamber large enough to comfortably house a dozen, the hearth already lit and smelling of fragrant herb despite James not having seen any soul save for Thor and his moody lover. 

“Food will arrive soon, eat your fill, bathe, and rest well. Your journey has been great, and there is still so much more. Renew when you have the chance.” Thor’s eyes lingered on Steve, smile tinged with sadness once more. 

Steve roused when laid on the fur-lined blanket, reflecting Thor’s smile. ”Thank you.”

Shaking his head, Thor retreated to the door. ”Do not thank me, for the hands of the All guide in strange ways, not all I agree with. You were brave then, and you have grown more still, Steven. Rest well.” He bid them good evening and returned to his arched halls. Almost immediately after the door closed the distant, rhythmic strike of a hammer against an anvil began once more. 

Steve sat up with a low groan, ”I heard talk of springs and food, and I want both with every shred of my being. And you need to clean up so I can tend to your wounds.” He grimaced, surveying the cuts littering James’ body where his modest armor didn’t cover it. 

Looking down at himself, James shrugged, ”They will heal.”

“Be that as it may,” Steve rolled his eyes and got to his feet with a small sway.

Steve located another hallway behind a screen, immediately buffeted by warm, damp air. “Come on, even you can’t resist a spring.” Steve aimed a smile at him, albeit one wane around the edges. He looked as if he was ready to curl up and sleep right then and there.

“Fine,” James would go, if only because he was sure Steve would fall asleep in the water and drown if he didn’t.

Submerging himself in the waist-deep waters of the carved alcove, James inwardly admitted Steve had been right. It wasn’t like bathing at an inn with a washing-tub of hot water or wading into a cold stream. The hot water soothed his cuts and bruises, relaxing while also invigorating. 

Steve leaned against the smooth stone edge, resting his head against a folded arm with a low groan, ”This was worth being attacked.” A tiny smirk quirked James’ lips, considering he’d been the one doing most of the fighting. He didn’t say it out loud, but the fleeting thought was there. 

Despite James’ reservations, Steve perched himself on the edge and motioned him closer to lay his hands on James’ head. The piercing ache was nothing new at this point, but the chasm that opened in his chest in its wake was. It was nothing like he’d ever experienced before. Not the hot burn of anger, the needles of irritation, or the iron-clad ring of protectiveness. This was — emptiness. 

Shaking away the looming cloud, James picked Steve bodily from the floor, ignoring Steve’s weak protests at being carried like a child again. No matter how much he quietly fussed, Steve immediately succumbed to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.  
  
James looked down at his pile of damp, blood-flecked armor. He needed to clean it, oil it down, keep it neat. His Master would accept nothing less. 

Standing naked in the room under the mountain, James’ jaw tensed, and he turned away from the discarded pile. His Master wasn’t here.   
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Power stone soap made by chaosmanor. Made with a saponified olive oil, coconut oil, cacao butter, shea butter and castor oil to give moisturizing suds. Fragrance is chocolate.


	8. Chapter 8

Somewhere in the darkness, a woman sang.

  
  
_“Sleep sleep sleep_

_Don’t lie too close to the edge of the bed_

_Or little grey wolf will come_

_And grab you by the flank,_

_Drag you into the woods_

_Underneath the willow root.”_

A warm hand against his cheek pulled James awake, leaving the lullaby behind. “James?” Steve leaned over him with pulled brows. ”Are you alright?”

James swallowed, awareness returning to his body. He was shivering despite the pleasant warmth of the room. “I — “ He croaked, unable to form words over the silent screams of the void within him.

Steve’s thumb slid against his cheek, sliding through the wet trail of tears clinging to his skin. ”It’s okay, it was another dream.” Steve’s expression gave way to concern, his touch delicate enough to handle glass. It was absurd, but James leaned into it, trembling underneath the heavy blanket with a stuttered gasp. 

“I-I don’t know...I don’t know her name...I forgot...It’s _important_ , Steve.” He cried, mourning a woman he wasn’t sure he’d ever known. All he knew was the bone-deep sadness that had created a chasm within, echoing with spectral voices. 

Steve’s slender arms looped around his shoulders, pulling him close. It felt ridiculous, being comforted by someone so much smaller, but he folded himself into the hold, crying into one of Steve’s boney shoulders. 

He wasn’t sure when he fell back asleep, only that he woke still plastered against the smaller body against him, Steve’s fingers threaded into the mane of James’ hair. 

Breakfast was full of hearty fare, as rich and bold as their host, and yet despite the spread James picked with a lackluster appetite. Not that it mattered, Thor deposited a heavy rucksack into his arms after they affixed their cloaks, even at James insistence that the elves had already refilled their stores. 

“Nonsense! Elvish food is all well and good, but where is the _fire_.” Thor laughed, slapping a big hand against James’ back hard enough to make him take two steps forward or risk toppling over. 

There was no sign of Loki as Thor guided them to the surface, chatting every step of the way in a voice so loud the whole mountain buzzed with its cadence. Once again, James’ mare waited on them, nibbling at sparse grass half-hidden by a massive stone overhang carved into the mountain. 

James couldn’t see the sky from the dense clouds hugging the mountaintop, just a sea of fluffy white-grey. 

“I’ll hold the storms until you two are safely down the mountain,” Thor promised, bending to gather Steve up in an embrace that was no less than back-breaking if Steve’s pained face was anything to go by. 

“Many thanks, and tell Loki thank you for the...interesting welcome.” Steve’s small smirk burst another bright peel of laughter from Thor and this time it was Steve that got barrelled over by Thor’s overzealous hand. 

An hour into their descent James felt the nagging discomfort of being watched and turned in his saddle. A bird large enough to carry away a horse in its talons sat atop a craggy tree near the mountain’s peak, large, scarlet eyes watching. Feathers of emerald and sapphire decorated in wealth caught the morning light as it heaved from the tree, taking flight into the dewy clouds. 

“There are a great many wondrous things in this world.” Steve yawned into his back, and James’ eyes returned to the treacherous terrain as a sonorous crow echoed through the cloud cover. 

After their descent from the mountain, days bled one into another, dull and unguided. A week trickled by without Steve declaring he’d been inspired by the divine to direct their path, leaving them to meander in whatever direction that beckoned. 

Steve might not dream, but James did. 

Night after night he woke with half-formed names on his tongue that immediately slipped away. He didn’t know the dead could haunt a Ghost, but there was no doubt in his mind the voices and blurry faces that plagued his dreams were that of long-deceased. 

It was on one such morning that he woke with a hand outstretched towards thin air that had the tight coil in his chest snapping. 

Steve had been nothing but helpful in these moments, but as Steve suggested he’d make tea and fussed over James like he was a crying babe, James slapped his hand away and snarled, ”I don’t need your hand holding and bloody tea!” It struck him a moment later what he’d done, and they both stared in quiet fascination at Steve’s faintly reddened hand. 

A vague smirk or grumble wasn’t foreign to him, but outbursts like this were unheard of. James had no memory, but a quiet fear within him told him he would have been severely punished if he’d done something like that to a Hydra overseer. 

But of being angry, Steve laughed and gave James a brief pat on his cheek before turning to the campfire to make tea. 

“As the spell weakens, the more you wake,” Steve said blithely, paying his smarting hand no attention, though James kept glancing at it throughout the morning with a sensation he was getting more and more familiar with. Guilt. 

A few days later James stared ahead at the lush landscape that had long grown dull. There were moments where his normally unwavering attention would stray, pulling his eyes towards an interesting knot on a tree or a fox scampering off into the distance. 

As he internally debated on pausing their trek at a lush patch of wild carrots, Steve bodily gasped and sat up high in the saddle. 

“James! I know this place.” Steve clutched at his shoulders, shaking him until he turned his attention towards a rocky outcrop that loomed over what looked to be a crumbling stone hedge in the distance. Behind that, at the very edge of their sight, James saw an old tower, chipped and fallen in at the top, but still standing, a monolith in time. 

“ _Fógra spéire!_ The wizard’s tower, James we must — _please_. If it still stands…” Steve trailed, squeezing tight enough that the leather over James’ shoulders creaked.

”Please, James.” 

The two words were whispered, a desperation laced within them that James didn’t recognize out of Steve’s usually pushy nature. Steve had made requests of him to stop here and there, some wiser than others, but never had he shook with the desire of it. He didn’t know what could possibly lie in the direction of an old, ruined tower, but the desperation in Steve’s tone made him adjust their path before he could weigh if it was a good idea or not. 

A quaking energy unsettled Steve every step the horse took closer towards the ruined tower.

The closer they came, the more James saw signs of life. Farms, dirt roads, livestock milling in clover-kissed fields. They rode past a youth sleeping against the furred bulk of their shepherding hound who looked up at them and blinked lazily, massive jaws falling open to drip viscous drool onto its black and white paws. Steve chortled. 

It wasn’t a large town by any means, but it was well tended and populated. The clay and straw homes formed a ring three layers deep around the ‘wizard’s’ tower as if the tower had once served a focal point of the existence of long-dead villagers.

James hadn’t even slowed the horse to a stop when Steve scrambled down and took off. He cussed, spurring the horse to follow, but didn't need to give chase for long. Steve slowed in front of a tiny house nestled in an area a little more dilapidated than the rest of the town. The roof smelled of fresh thatch, though the door was worn and dented with age. 

With a trembling hand, Steve reached out towards the door. A baby’s cry from the inside jerked Steve’s hand back, and he took a few steps away, sucking in a shaking breath. 

“Steve?” James dismounted, hazarding to get closer. ”You ran.” Annoyance was the easiest emotion to bubble to the surface so far.

Steve shook his head, turning away, ”This was my home.” It was quiet, but James’ ears were keen. “But she wouldn’t be here, would she?” Steve wrung his hands, tugging his cloak up higher. 

”I need to see her.” He turned away, walking towards the edge of town laying in the shadow of a mountain. 

The cemetery was made all the more dreary wreathed in darkness, a grey pit where memories hung like wraiths. Most of the stones were clean and tidy, though the farther one went, the more the cemetery fell into neglect.

Steve walked row after row, face pinching with pain occasionally, but he didn’t linger. Finally, covered in creeping ivy and leaves, Steve found what he’d been looking for. The grave was a modest one in comparison to some of the other well-tended but not at all the smallest or in most disrepair. 

“...I wonder who bought it for her,” Steve whispered to himself, kneeling on the ivy-choked grass. He used a corner of his cloak to wipe away the years from the grave, shoulders slumping further and further. 

On the grave was a simple inscription:

_Sarah Rogers_

_Strong during sacrifice_

_1290-S25_

It clicked then, and Bucky’s hand briefly tightened on the reins. The whispers of bottomless sadness he’d felt that night huddled against Steve flickered, candlelight fighting a gale. 

He tied off their mount against a nearby tree and stood sentinel a few meters behind, watching as Steve sank against the stone, shoulders quietly shaking.

James didn’t interfere until the sun disappeared behind the mountain’s crest and Steve began to shiver from the crisp air. “We need to find shelter for the night,” He approached, laying a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

He had to coax Steve bodily to his feet, but once their backs were turned Steve walked with him easier, every step less like he was stumbling. 

“She died twenty years after I was taken,” Steve began, leaning into Bucky’s side with a sigh.

”I was twelve years old when they came. The kingdoms had just allied, they — they said it was an honor to be chosen. To help protect the new treaties. That my growing magic was a gift from the All.” A bitterness James had never heard out of Steve when talking about the All leaked into his voice, ”I highly doubt the Gods would have wanted a bunch of squabbling rulers to take a twelve year old boy from his mother.

James didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that. What he could say. The depths of his emotions weren’t there. The outrage he knew he should feel, the empathy. He wasn’t there yet. Instead of a Ghost, he’d become a Shadow.

“She tried, you know. To be strong, but I could see it. All the tears she wouldn’t cry.” Steve’s steps paused long enough for him to breathe, composing himself. James thought Steve must be like his mother in many aspects then. Steve’s eyes shone, watery, and heavy, but he never let them fall. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath and pushed on. Always walking forward. 

They were nearing the town’s tiny inn when an old woman’s voice called to them from an arched doorway,” Steve? By All, Steve? Is that you?” Bent with time, the old woman stared as if Steve was the ghost, her brown eyes round with shock.

Steve spun around so hard he jostled into James and so he had to reach out to steady Steve before he toppled over. A heartbeat, then two passed, and Steve gasped. ” _Pegs_?”

The woman took a few careful steps forward, guided by her cane. Her wrinkled face broke with laughter, and Steve pushed away to meet her. “It is you, By the Gods, Steve Rogers...I had... _we_ had thought the worst.” Her hands touched Steve’s ageless cheeks, marveling. ”Look at you.”

Steve mirrored her, cradling her ancient face as tenderly as a newborn child. ”Look at you, Peggy Carter...of course you’d outlive them all.”

Snickering, Peggy smacked a hand lovingly against Steve’s cheek. ”Pure piss and vinegar, darling.” Her eyes slid past Steve, spotting James and the horse hovering in the background. ”There’s a story here, isn’t there?” Her smile wavered, holding Steve at arm’s reach to get a proper look at him. “Stable the horse behind the house, you’re not leaving til you tell me everything.”

“Still bossy,” Steve smirked, not fighting the way Peggy reached down to grasp his hand and tug him inside. 

By the time James had gotten the tack off the horse, fed, and watered her, he walked into the two seated close at a worn, well-loved table with two dogs nestled at their feet. The dogs looked up, warning growls bubbling in their throats. 

“Quiet,” Peggy commanded in a tone crisp and clear. The dogs, while suspicious, laid their heads back down and kept a cautious eye on James as he closed the door.

“Pegs, this is James. He’s my friend, and the one who rescued me.” Steve introduced him, conveniently leaving out the part where James had been tasked with killing him.

Peggy looked at him, eyes wise and shrewd .”Well then, James, you have my thanks. It was bullshite they took him to start with, treaty be damned.” She sniffed, pushing herself up to fuss around a teakettle. 

There were many things James didn’t yet know about Steve. That there was a special blend of tea only made in a nearby village that made him hum with pleasure. Or that he’d tried to fight every bully in the village when he was even smaller and thinner than he was now. Or that he’d had a group of fiercely loyal friends who had run away to try and rescue him before their parents had found them and dragged them back. Peggy had admitted to organizing the effort and being punished the most. Or that he’d been a sickly child, kept awake at night by visions filled with things no child should see. 

“I was sweet on you, you know. Had it in my mind I was going to pick the biggest bouquet of bluebells and give them to you, nevermind I was allergic.” Steve tittered at Peggy late into the night, hands still clasped with hers. 

James sat sharpening his blades, eyeing their clasped hands out of the corner of his eye and wondering why their supper, while delectable, sat so hard on his stomach. 

Peggy rocked back into her seat and laughed, ”You — I was smitten with you. None of my friends understood it, but everyone underestimated you, didn’t they?” She chortled fondly, sitting back to nurse her third cup of herbal tea. 

”It’s been an interesting life though, my sweet, filled with its ups and downs. I served for a little while, you know, earned a rank, could have gone farther but, I suppose many people chose the same option I did when faced with it. I met Daniel, and that was it. You would have liked him, strong man, genuine, good father. I lost him ten summers ago,” She shook her head, ”Children are all grown, off into the city, making names for themselves. As exhausting as All end, but aren’t they all?” 

“I’m glad, Pegs. I always knew you’d do whatever you set your mind to,” Steve’s soft, tender voice was new to James, and his sharpening stone paused over his sword. 

Peggy’s smile waned, and she set her cup down. Slowly, she leaned forward, grasping Steve’s head by the temples until she could guide her lips to press to his forehead. ”I’m sorry Steve. I’m sorry you never got that chance.”

“It’s alright Pegs, look at me.” Steve picked up her hand, guiding it to his chest. ”See? Remember how my breath rattled in my chest? My bent back? I wouldn’t have lasted many more summers. Perhaps it was better this way.” James’ brows furrowed, not understanding why Steve was sparing the old woman’s feelings when Steve had just lamented his fate at the graveyard.

Huffing a watery laugh, Peggy gently pushed Steve away. ”As if you would have allowed that. You would have fought the All every step of the way.”

“He still does,” James spoke for the first time since stepping into the home, surprising them all. 

Peggy’s smirk smoothed, staring him down until James looked back down at his sword and resumed once more, missing the quiet weight behind Steve’s own appraisal.

“Yes, I bet he does.” 

Peggy arranged them comfortable cots in her children’s old room, bidding them to rest well and that she expected both of them to be up and ready to help with breakfast. “I’m not an Innmaid!” She laughed over her shoulder, shuffling off with her dogs following in her wake. 

The day had been trying and Steve dropped to sleep almost immediately, face smashed into the pillow in utter relaxation. Sleep wasn’t so easy to come for James. He laid awake long into the night, staring up at the ceiling, quietly wondering if he’d had a life as filled with stories as Steve’s childhood. Were there people out there that still remembered him? Had he been a serious or precocious youth? Had he pets? Friends?...Family? 

What stories had been lost to the fire seared into his skin?

He woke to standing in the middle of the room, his sword held loosely in his hand while Steve slept blissfully on. A hurried dunk into an icy bucket of water drawn from the back well had the fog of whispers fading from his mind though nothing could be done for the constant bite of the brand.

By the time he dried and dressed, Peggy was in the kitchen, putting a pot of water over the fire. “Good, you’re up. Go wake up Steve then you two can peel those potatoes.”

“No,” James blinked and Peggy shot him a severely unimpressed look, ”I —.. I will peel them. Let Steve sleep.”

Peggy’s eyes narrowed. Abruptly, she offered a small smile and nodded, ”Then get to peeling if you want cakes to take with you on the road.” 

The barest echo of crispy potato flesh and duck fat touched on his tongue, bringing with it smoke from a hearth made fragrant with bundled herbs. James sat heavier than he meant to, clenching his hands until they stopped shaking enough to start peeling potatoes.

The travel rations, as well as breakfast, were nearly done by the time Steve wobbled into the room, yawning wide enough to crack his jaw. ”You didn’t wake me.”

Peggy glanced over her shoulder as she stoked the fire, using the bacon fat to fry the flatbreads James had kneaded not five minutes ago. ”James said to let you rest.” Her smile did something James didn’t understand, but whatever it was it made Steve’s cheeks darken, and look away. 

“Oh.”

“Was that wrong of me?” James had a history of doing things Steve didn’t approve of but he hadn’t thought this would be one of them.

After he sat, Steve shook his head and fixed his tea. ”No, I appreciate it. It...it was very nice of you, James.”

Nice? He had done something nice?

The corners of his lips twitched and James went back to wrapping the fresh potato cakes in brown paper for their lunch.

When the time came to part, neither Steve nor Peggy managed to keep their tears to themselves as they kissed each other’s brows and embrace. 

“I will come again, I promise,” Steve vowed.

“You had better, I don’t have another seventy years left in me.” Peggy smiled, embracing Steve once more before drawing away to step closer to James. ”You take care of him, do you hear me? Make sure he’s safe, he won’t make it easy.” For the first time, Peggy reached out to touch him, grasping his forearm with arthritic fingers in a brief squeeze. 

Wordlessly, James nodded, quietly praying that he would be able to keep that promise while the dark magic within him was out for Steve’s blood. 

  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

One would think, after months of riding around the kingdoms, James would be used to Steve’s lapses into irrationality, and yet there he was, staring levelly at the supposedly divine-blessed man who was busy ranting around their morning breakfast. 

“I spent my entire childhood with the damnable afflictions and yet now, in my time of need,  _ nothing _ ?” Steve yelled in frustration, picking up a stone to lob it into the distance. Or, as far into the distance as his feeble throw would allow him, which only seemed to fluster Steve further. 

“I am an Oracle, divining where the fuck we go is just — part of the job!” Steve finally seemed to run out of steam and flopped himself down onto the grass. 

James wordlessly passed off Steve’s morning rations. The addition of fresh berries from a nearby bush was a nice addition to their porridge since Steve liked to complain he didn’t survive being kidnapped and imprisoned to resign himself to tasteless oats. As if it ever kept him from finishing every bite either way.

The scratches on his hands weren’t a hardship, and James enjoyed the burst of flavor on his tongue as well. He would be sure to pick some more before they rode on, despite having no clear destination. 

The weeks since leaving Steve’s home village had mostly been spent just as they were. Roaming and waiting. So far, all Steve had found was frustration. 

Their breakfast did well enough distracting Steve from his raving, and he stuffed his face, cheeks bulging like a peevish chipmunk. Since being away from the cave and losing the assistance of the gems, more of Steve’s humanity returned to him, and feeling hunger was the latest. One Steve loudly lamented, as he said he’d experienced it often enough in childhood and he hadn’t wanted to experience the likes of it again. James made sure their food stores never dipped too low, even if he knew he shouldn’t take so much time foraging or hunting to supplement the bland nature of their travel rations. 

When the headband tied around Steve’s forehead grew too dingy from wear, James purchased a leather cap with a low brim that did a good job keeping Steve’s remaining gems and hair hidden. The long weeks of travel had done little to lessen the glow of the Divine in Steve, and his hair looked too much like nobility for it to be kept unhidden within a village. The less prying eyes, the better. 

He had never been concerned with how much coin he carried, his unique skill set allowing him to steal everything he needed, but as he bought the hat he was quietly thankful that Thor had slipped a hefty purse into their departing food gifts. A little note had been clipped to the bag, ‘Apologies for Loki, travel well’. James had felt warmth in his chest which made Steve smile and squeeze his bicep when he told Steve about it. 

Another week of uncoordinated wandering had Steve near a breaking point. 

“This feels like a sign. Have I made a mistake?” Steve sighed up at the sky, sprawled on his sleeping roll set right against James’, despite the fact that James had purchased the second roll just so Steve didn’t have to be so close. 

Like most of the time Steve asked something, James didn’t know how to reply. He turned his head, watching Steve’s profile furrow in the flickering dull light of the barely-there fire. 

“If I’ve erred, I wish they would tell me in a way more obvious and be done with it.” Scowling, Steve rolled over to face James, “Do you think it wrong of me? To possibly condemn the kingdoms for my own freedom?”

This, James could answer. ”You did nothing wrong. Why would you suffer imprisonment then.” Wicked people he understood as needing to be punished, but Steve hadn’t been capable( being so young when he’d been ‘chosen’) to do something worth his life’s price.

James wondered what he himself had done to deserve the brand. It had to have been heinous, for his punishment to take away all that he was and leave little behind. 

“Sometimes...it’s for the greater good. Right? Why a captain dies for his men. Why a mother gives her share to her children when there is little to go around. Why — “

“None of those things should have to happen.” James insisted, brows pinching faintly. ”There...shouldn’t be a need for bloodshed. Or for a mother not to have enough food. Those things — they shouldn’t  _ be _ .” He wasn’t sure where the conviction came from only that he knew he felt it in his whole being, contrary to his training. 

Steve’s expression softened, ”Were it an ideal world,” He muttered wistfully before his jaw cracked with a yawn. 

“Go to sleep,” James bid, settling in for his watch despite Steve having forced him to, at least, pretend to sleep. He would wake Steve a few hours before dawn so he too could earn a few hours, never enough for Steve’s satisfaction, but whatever kept the body functioning within standard parameters was good enough for James. 

It felt like minutes after he’d settled into his own sleep roll with Steve mumbling something to himself while digging through their bags, that he was pulled awake. Flailing out, he knocked a dart from the air before it could bite into his skin. A few feet away, Steve shouted.

“James!” Steve threw out his hand, and the waning flames of their fire flared to life, illuminating their campsite and the shadowy figures hugging the edge of the darkness. 

Figures James knew all too well. 

He dove, shoving Steve to the side as another volley of darts struck into the dirt Steve had occupied moments before. 

James drew his sword and unconsciously reached for the magical connection on his arm, willing the strength and swiftness it granted him to life. Except instead of fiery power, he found ice. Gasping, he staggered, and nearly missed catching one of the figures with the tip of his blade. Ice crept up his arm, forcing him to switch his blade hand to parry his enemy’s retaliating strike.

“Protect yourself!” James snarled back towards Steve, knowing the idiot would try and help and end up getting himself killed. He couldn’t afford to worry over Steve while facing down Hydra, not with his arm out of commission. 

Firelight erupted once more, and James breathed a mental sigh of relief seeing Steve’s figure disappear in the cover of magically bent fire. 

The ice kept creeping, gnawing into his shoulder, chilling his veins. He cussed as his sword bit into one of his attackers’ neck and they fell in a spray of murky blood. 

“Ghost,” A familiar voice rooted his feet in place, a chittering fear settling into James’ stomach. He didn't know the name of the figure shrouded in red and black, only that he knew the voice and the pain that always came with it. “I see you’ve forgotten your place.”

A black-gloved hand appeared from the figure’s robes, ruby-red eyes blinking open in the pitch of their cowl. James heard Steve shout from behind the wall of fire, but there was nothing he could do. A dark mist poured from the Mage’s fingertips, enveloping James in a cloud of pain and screams. 

Daggers bore down on his skull, digging deeper and deeper the more he fought the press of the spell-cloud consuming him. His sword clattered to the ground and he stepped over it, stumbling towards the dying wall of fire and the small figure staring wide-eyed at him through the flames. 

“James! Fight it!” Steve backed away a few paces, brows furrowed. The fire briefly bit into James’ skin, but as soon as he stepped into it, Steve dropped the spell with a horrified gasp.

James tasted blood. Screams unending filled his ears, a layered cacophonous sound snapping at his heels, urging his stumbling steps onward. How could he fight something that pulled at the very core of him?

Above the screams, he heard laughter jeering in the darkness.

He drew his dagger, the same he’d first threatened Steve’s life with what felt like a lifetime ago. Steve’s eyes never wavered from his own, even as James struck.

Steve was faster than he’d expected, or perhaps he was slower. Steve nimbly ducked from the strike, and instead of trying to dart away, the fool stepped in closer. James stepped back, lashing out again, opening a neat line in the meat of Steve’s outstretched forearm. 

Steve hissed in pain but still kept coming, throwing out his hands and shoving into James’ chest. 

A cannon blast detonated in James’ skull, whiting out all else.

Cool water touched his skin, and James blinked. He groaned, fingers digging into blood-churned mud. Each sense came back to him one by one. The smell of death. The sight of a black-robed body in front of him. The taste of copper. The cold of the rain. And finally, the sound of Steve’s shivering breaths.

“James?” Steve hesitantly ventured. 

A moment later rain-chilled fingertips touched against James’ head, petting through his tangled hair. Slowly, he turned his head to face Steve, blinking up through fat droplets of water to see the exhaustion etched into Steve’s pale face. 

James opened his mouth but his tongue felt weighed down by the taste of old blood and ash. 

“Slowly,” Steve urged, disappearing for a moment before returning to offer the waterskin to his lips. 

James drank greedily, each pull of herbal water breathing new life into his veins. After a few minutes, he was able to pull himself to his hands and knees, swaying unsteadily, only kept semi-upright by Steve’s cautious hand. 

“Are you yourself?” Steve asked, and James nearly laughed. 

“...were I not...wouldn’t you be..dead?” James struggled and heard Steve snort beside him. 

“You don’t give me enough credit.” Steve guided him to sit back on his haunches, mud, or no mud. “Steady.”

James' eyes focussed enough to finally get a good look at Steve in his entirety, and his frown deepened. Steve looked beyond his first estimation of exhaustion. His frail body shook with small tremors he didn't seem fully aware of. The semi-dewy visage of divinity had waned, replaced with the splotchy complexion of someone that direly needed warmth and good food to right himself. Steve looked —  _ frail. _

"What... happened?" James rasped despite his quenched thirst. 

Steve sat heavily next to him, sighing in the mud. "They were trying to regain control over you, but I don't think any of these Sorcerers had a direct line to you, or else I might not have been able to wrench you back." His body slowly started to sag against James, golden-haired head resting on his shoulder.

"I've told you I was —  _ am _ a Seer? I didn't have much of an affinity for other magics, though I could do basics. It's the Stones that gave me power beyond what I was. Divine Gifts. Now that three are gone it's getting harder to drag up the power." Steve's tone was conversational, if not dragging over his weariness, but Bucky could read between the lines. Steve was weakening, and it would only grow more dangerous from here.

"And the bodies?" James blinked out at the circle of carnage around them, noting some of the corpses weren't even whole anymore, torn to pieces as if by…

James looked down at his hands and the bloodied soil that clung under his fingernails, his stomach churning. 

“The burned ones are mine, the others…” Steve trailed, also looking at the gruesome scene around them. ”At least none of them escaped to tell their leaders.” He reasoned, his tone forcibly light.

James didn’t understand how Steve could be so dismissive. What Steve must have seen him do would chill the hearts of most, and yet Steve was still sitting beside him, arm bloodied from a wound  _ James _ had inflicted. Why? 

Swallowing the bile in his throat James got to his feet, ignoring the tremble of exhaustion that threatened to pull him back down. ”Stay there, I’ll gather the corpses. I can’t do much to hide them, but — 

“I’ll burn them.” Steve interrupted. He too got to his feet, swaying even more precariously than James but no less determined. For once, James didn’t fight him on moving around, but one thing nagged him.

“It’s raining, they won’t burn,” James grunted while heaving a mostly-intact corpse onto its neighbor.

Green in the face, Steve bent to retrieve a left arm, the hand still gripped around an oily focussing-stone used to more easily direct magic. ”If it were normal fire.” He said simply, dropping the severed limb onto the growing pile. 

They worked in silence from then on, setting to their grim task as the horse nickered uncomfortably in the mud. It took far longer than it should have, and by the time Steve planted himself in front of the mound, James wasn’t sure Steve had it in him to do anything more.

“Steve…”

“Quiet,” Steve snapped, eyes drifting closed. His hands raised, palms cupped towards the farce of a funeral mound. At first, nothing happened, and James took a step to try and coax Steve away once more.

As he reached towards Steve’s shoulder, red flames tinged with sapphire lept from Steve’s hands and fell upon the mound in a jarring roar. The magic flame buffeted him, licking James’ skin with heat that wasn’t as ferocious as expected, and yet it ate at the bodies with gusto. 

He didn’t get the chance to marvel at the fire any longer, for Steve sagged and staggered. James scooped him into his arms before he could hit the ground, hesitating only briefly to check Steve’s pulse. Finding it weak but even James returned to the horse’s side and carefully raised Steve up on her back. 

It was late in the afternoon, already dark and grey from the clouds above, and fatigue pulled at his chest, making him focus on every breath, but James spurred the horse into motion. He would ride through the night to get them as far away from the dull glow of magic reducing the nightmare of his tormentors to ash. And yet, even The Oracle could do nothing for the nightmares that still tormented his present, coming to him in the stillness of the night, whispers of an uncertain past and horrors in the dark.

The words of a sweet girl with too-big eyes still haunted him, even two months past. 

_ The Darkness. It ate him _ .


	10. Chapter 10

He didn’t recall mornings ever bothering him before, and yet as the first rays of warmth crept over the horizon James glared ruefully at the sky. Grumbling, he stifled a yawn and dragged their pack towards him to see to brewing a strong tea with the herbs gifted to them by Clint’s people. They still had a few palm-sized cheese wheels dipped in wax from Thor and a sweet bread from a town recently passed. A pleasant breakfast for a morning that settled uncomfortably in his bones. 

Beside him, Steve’s breath hitched. Immediately on alert, James looked over to find the familiar barely-there glow radiating behind Steve’s lids and the whisper of power that came with it.

Not ten minutes later Steve jolted awake, flailing like a fish out of water to wrestle his cloak from his prone body. ”James! I know — dammit, get off you stupid — I know where to go!” Steve struggled, kicking him in the process. 

James shook his head, reaching over to tug the cloak free less Steve ended up strangling himself first thing in the morning. ”And where would that be?” He broke off a piece of flaky red bark from their herb satchel that left the tea faintly sweet and tinged pink. 

“To the west, to the lands of sand and hills. I saw the sky and what lives there. The next Sage will find us there.” It was more than what Steve normally said of their destination. 

“Sand and hills, the neighboring kingdom then.” James mused, breaking one of the small cheese-wheels in half to pass one off to Steve now that he was upright. 

Happy to accept, Steve arranged himself near the small fire as their tea steeped. “I’ll be glad to leave the rain behind. I loathe the cold.” Steve sniffed peevishly, picking off the wax around the cheese to neatly deposit it on the edge of his bedroll so they could save it.

Handing over the bread next, James whole-heartedly agreed. ”I hate it too. Sometimes it feels like I’m never warm.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but these days that seemed to be happening more and more. ‘Speaking his mind’, as Steve called it.

Steve was getting better at not having  _ that look _ , one that set James on edge and made him not want to talk. Instead, Steve glanced over and offered a small smile. ”Then we’ll be sure to take our time and enjoy it while we have it.” It would have probably been more profound had Steve not had a cheek bulging with honeyed bread already. 

It took nearly a week to reach the borders and already the days were warmer. The sun peaked from the dissipating clouds, a long lost friend James had forgotten. Bathed in the light, it was harder to remember the chains that tethered him to the shadows. Were it not for the constant fire eating at his arm, James would have thought this was what true freedom was.

Steve had his head turned to the sky, watching a lazy puff of clouds waft by. ”What is Hydra like? Their borders are so heavily spelled it was hard even for me to peak within the kingdom in the cave.” 

The abrupt topic jarred James slightly, unused to letting his thoughts go in such directions as of late, not when it was something he wanted to leave behind. ”It is an unpleasant place. The peasants squabble among themselves for their livings instead of turning their anger to the lords that make them suffer. There is too little food for them, as most goods go towards the military.” James used to bleed through the throngs of the main city to get out of the gates, uncaring of the beggars or the despondent faces around him. Now, he didn’t know what he would do when faced with the same situation.

“That’s horrible.” Steve scowled, ”How do they have an army if they starve their people?”

James went silent, letting the implications stew.

“..Oh, All above, necromancy is forbidden by the gods,” Steve whispered as if that should mean anything.

James shrugged, ”There are no gods in Hydra. Only obedience. If you fall in line, you get food and water, if you don’t…” He trailed, shaking his head. He supposed he was lucky he’d been of use, though he wasn’t sure why his memory was more black than color. Surely he’d been a citizen of some sort drafted into the service?

Silence stretched, the lazy morning sun a little less warm. Steve’s arms tightened around his middle as if Steve was trying to press him back against his small body.

The unpleasantness was lost in the sun and growing scape of sand. Days stretched, and the time between spotting another soul grew farther and farther. Soon it was just them on the endless sands, the mare plodding along with quiet huffs as the ground shifted under her hooves. 

The land wasn’t so bleak or barren as to only know heat. To James' surprise there was a decent amount of vegetation to graze the horse on, and errant streams that Steve stood in the middle of, calling up magic to thicken the flow and purify it for their drinking. It always left Steve shuddering and sweat-damp, but they made do.

And for that first week, it was deceptively pleasant. The sun on their heads, and a breeze whipping over the hills.

Another week bled by, and the days seeped together, the scenery no longer as captivating as it had been before.

“Have I gone mad, or is that the same bird we saw not four days ago?” Steve pointed above as a wolf-sized bird soared above, it’s colorful plumage dazzling in the sunlight. Not at all a bird James would expected in a desert. 

“Perhaps it is just another of its kind,” James answered through a yawn, uncaring as three more birds of various sizes and colors fluttered by. There was a peculiar amount of them here, though the landscape didn’t lack fauna. Still, it was more than expected of the climate.

Steve nudged him with one of his boney shoulders and pointed more forcibly. ”No, it’s not. I remember, it has the same two feathers missing from its tail.” He insisted though James wasn’t sure why. What did it matter if a bird had taken interest in them?

“I wasn’t aware you enjoy bird-watching.” James was rediscovering what Steve called ‘sarcasm’, despite Steve being proficient in it himself he didn’t seem enthused at hearing it. He received another nudge, this time in his ribcage.

“You’re impossible,” Steve slumped back into the saddle, morosely staring at the sky as the birds circled lazily overhead.

Except, now that James was aware of it, he too started noticing more and more birds on the horizon. Some were small creatures, fat cherubic things that perched on scraggly vegetation, and others were large enough James felt the need to rest his hand on his sword. However, none of the avian crowd seemed interested in them outside of the idle glance, squawk, or chirp. Not that James thought it was merely coincidence, there was never such an easy solution.

The deeper they went into the sandy kingdom, the more James knew there was magic at work among the dunes. If not for the intervals of vegetation and Steve’s ability to draw up water they would have long succumbed to hunger or thirst, but the land’s curious bounty or the continued presence of birds wasn’t what clued him in. It was the sun, warm on the side of hot and, however pleasant, they should have been showing signs of exposure. Sun blisters, sand-rough skin, anything to tell they had been within the kingdom nearly a month with no sign of another sapient being.

“Are you keeping the sun from us?” James turned to see Steve slip against a dune as they gave the horse some time to walk without being burdened. 

“What?” Steve struggled to his side, heaving an annoyed huff at the stretch of sand as if he might glare it into submission.

“The sun hasn’t burned our skin,” He pointed unnecessarily to Steve’s bare arm, pinked from exertion but otherwise untouched. 

Steve looked down, face scrunched. ”No, I… that is strange, isn’t it?” He stopped, turning a slow circle around the area. ”Come to think of it, it hasn’t rained either, but the oasis are still plentiful and green.”

“I didn’t hear word of a kingdom so magical in towns outside the border.” 

“Nor I, and yet here we are. It will reveal itself in time, I expect.” As usual, Steve yielded to the whims of the fates and continued walking, only stopping occasionally to pluck a colorful feather from the sand. 

They bedded down for the night in a valley between two hills with sparse trees, letting the height of soil and sand block the greater portion of their firelight. The nights were cool though not so horrible as to set Steve to shivering if they stayed close.

Steve wasn’t as thrilled over James skewering the large lizard he’d killed sunning itself in the last rays of dusk as James was. “Meat is meat.” James shrugged, turning the spit while Steve prepared their tea. 

“I’ve eaten a great many questionable things in my life, my mother and I were no strangers to light purse strings, but I hadn’t wanted to revisit anything akin to a rat. And what is that, but a rat of the desert?” Steve huffed primly, despite James having seen him gorge on pigeon pie in an inn long past, and what were pigeons, but rats of the sky?

And yet, for all his whining, Steve ate, grimacing the entire time. Now that three gems had been removed his body hadn’t as many luxuries as it had before and hunger was starting to be more than occasional. James had been used to only eating the bare minimum before to continue to function, now he was more amiable to regular meals even if they weren’t completely necessary. 

After the bones were buried and their tea was drunk, they settled on their bedrolls, listening to the fire crackle a few feet away. 

Steve shifted, rolling onto his back. ”What do you remember? Are there more things than there were before?” Steve hadn’t stopped laying hands on him in the night, though it was distinctly less uncomfortable these days, only ending in a mild headache at best. 

James stayed on his side, facing away from Steve, gaze fixed on the flickering firelight dancing on the sand. ”There are more things.” He started, steeling himself to wade into the troubled waters of his own mind. 

“I remember...darkness. But not the dark of the night. An all-consuming darkness so pitch nothing can escape. Darkness so heavy it weighs on your back.” His eyes closed, recalling the dredges of panic laced within that fuzzy memory. ”I remember fangs in the dark..pain. More troubling than that, I remember people. A woman, a man, and a child. I think — I think they might have been my family.” He had been trained to be nothing, to be empty, but even still, the grief welled up within his chest the more words built on his tongue. 

“There are voices sometimes. I...think whoever they are, wherever they were, it was a long time ago. I don’t know why, but I feel it. If there was someone, they’d long passed.” Perhaps it was better that way. If his memory ever fully returned and he found those people, what sort of reception would he receive? He had done terrible things in the name of Hydra, even if it wasn’t of his own free will. There was blood on his hands layered so thick it would never fleck away, no matter how much time passed. He would forever be stained.

He wondered if there would be any of him left. If Hydra had taken everything and left only a ghost after all.

To his surprise, Steve didn’t offer his opinion or false optimism of all the things he might get back once the spell holding him was fully unraveled. Instead, Steve shifted, wiggling onto James’ bedroll to mold his body against his back. A hand too large for such a small man touched on James’ side, a warm anchor in the troubled gale.

  
  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

James woke with a start, a flurry of wings a whirling tornado around them so dense it nearly blocked out the rising sun. The beautiful array of feathers from the weeks before now felt menacing, catching the outside light and tossing it into the circle, catching James’ eye with stinging precision.

“Steve!” He reached with one hand to rouse Steve while his other went for his sword. 

Steve groaned, rolling onto his back. “Wha — Gods above,” He cursed, scrambling upright and nearly tripping over his cloak in the process. A dull glow haloed around his hands forming into a small ball he lobbed into the flurry. An opening formed in the wall of feathers, flowing around the ball that shot uselessly out into the sand beyond.

“James?” Steve looked over at him, puzzled. His voice was clear as day, only the buffeting of the bird’s wings a thrumming hum. He realized Steve’s confusion in that moment and adopted it as his own. Why weren’t the birds squawking at their surrounded prey?

Slowly, James reached out to the wall of feathers, watching in quiet fascination as it bulged out away from his touch, always keeping a few inches between their bodies and his own.

“I told you they weren’t regular birds,” Steve smirked behind him, and James was momentarily overcome by the need to roll his eyes.

Walking back to Steve’s side, Bucky retorted, “ _ Everything _ with you is magic.”

“It’s almost like he’s the Oracle.” A voice from above laughed, and James brandished his sword right as a mass of feathers dropped into the circle. Two more landed behind the first, massive wings rippling and shimmering in the sunlight as the torrent of birds abruptly broke apart, scattering into the air with gleeful cries. 

James pushed Steve a step behind him, uncaring of Steve's protesting grunt. These beings knew who Steve was, and James was too suspicious to assume the Sage’s hands at play just yet. 

A man appeared behind the first set of wings, the rich feathers of gold, red, auburn, and pale cream folding in behind him as gracefully as a swan. His deep skin was brushed with traces of gold powder that caught the light, highlighting a strong torso that tapered down into bent avian legs layered with the same silken feathers as his wings. James, however, didn’t fail to notice the menacing metal tips set on each end of the being’s talons that dug into the shifting sand.

“Settle, we mean you no harm,” There was a note of amusement in his voice as if James was the one being childish in this situation. 

“Could have fooled me, what with the whirlwind of feathers.” James groused, lowering his sword a whole inch, even with Steve sighing behind him.

Steve reached out to bat his hand away, ducking around his sword arm to approach what James assumed to be a Sage at this point. The man certainly looked the part, though his other two companions weren’t far behind in decoration. The leader just had an air around him that said him to be wise, though James hated the tilt of his smile almost immediately. 

“Hello again, Steven, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The Sage reached out, clasping Steve’s forearm, digging one of his hooked fingernails just slightly into Steve’s vulnerable skin. To James’ surprise, Steve mirrored the motion with a smile, paying no attention to the fact that this man could open his artery with a flick of his finger. 

Letting his hand drop, Steve nodded, ”Decades, actually. But I remember you, even if I wasn’t supposed to, hard to forget, actually.” They shared a playful laugh, much to James’ growing irritation. 

“I see you’re three gems shy, so I can guess why you’ve come. It heartens me, perhaps this injustice can be righted yet.” The winged man’s eyes slid to the side to look at James, reaching out a hand for him as well.”My name is Sam — “

“ _ Samuel _ , leaders should use their full name!” One of his companions piped up from behind him, a man with tawny feathers interspersed with ivory. His sun-bleached brown hair was messy around his head, boasting little bobbles of carved bone and jewelry that clacked when his head shifted.

‘Sam’ sighed, looking over his shoulder with an expression between irritation and overwhelming fondness. “Yes, my beloved.” It sounded as if they’d had this very argument a thousand times before. Their other companion, a woman with black and yellow feathers, snickered.

James sheathed his sword but pointedly made no move to shake Sam’s hand. By now, Steve knew to quickly interject. ”Don’t mind my companion, he’s probably disappointed he doesn’t get to be my bodyguard,” Steve’s look over his shoulder had far more heat to it than Sam’s had. “Don’t be rude,” He grumbled, promising hellfire in his eyes. 

Reluctantly, James caved. He wasn’t sure when Steve had cultivated such sway over him, but he knew if he refused and kept being ‘rude’ Steve would pay him back fourfold for the transgression. So he scowled, clapped his hand roughly to Sam’s offered arm, and made sure to dig his nail in good and hard. 

“You know, the whole purpose of the shake is to say how  _ not _ hostile you are.” Sam quirked a gold-dusted brow and withdrew. James didn’t dignify that with an answer. 

With a put-upon sigh to end all sighs, Steve let it be. ”He’s the reason I’m here and not still in the cave,” He explained, ”He’s a dear friend, I owe him my life.”

A squirmy feeling took residence in James’ stomach. Steve had said something similar before to the other Sages, but the cadence of his voice felt different this time around. He couldn’t identify the  _ why —  _ all he could do was acknowledge that the tone made James feel strange as if he needed to put his hand over Steve’s mouth to keep him from talking. 

“I figured it had to be something like that, what with the sunny personality.” Sam chortled, completely ignoring his apparent partner’s exhausted groan. “But no more of that, you must have been among the dunes a great while to get this far. Rest first, and I will gladly do as you ask.” 

Before Steve or James could think to say anything else, Sam turned, pushed his fingers to his mouth, and whistled loud enough to zing through their ears with a piercing flinch. 

“It’s been some time since visitors were in the Aerie.” The pale-skinned man walked up next to Sam, their wings briefly knocking together. Their other companion took flight, leaping into the air with a hard push of her powerful legs, her wings snapping open at the zenith, a curtain of ink and sunlight that swept her off into the sky. 

They reminded James of something, an echo sweeping through the dusty corridors of his mind. 

“You’re Harpies.” He blurted before he could turn it over more. That was preposterous, Harpies were fell creatures that haunted dark paths or crumbling mountainsides. Twisted things with ugly wings and talons caked in blood. These creatures here were near-divine in their grace, utterly opposite of what James knew. 

Sam’s expression softened, ”We are. Or what Harpies used to be. I see from your expression that you are more familiar with our distant cousins.” Behind him, Sam’s companion grimaced. 

James didn’t get the chance to probe further. A blanket fell over the sky, and once again wings blocked out the sun, except this time, it wasn’t a flock. No, it was one bird, one massive beast whose wings stretched wide enough to span the largest river, whose body was large enough that its ribcage would fit comfortably over most homes with room to spare. 

It crowed, massive beak parting to a serrated jaw and a horse-sized tongue lined in barbs. It’s dark wings beat wind against their faces as it slowed, dropping its powerful body onto a dune a few stone throws away. Even with the distance, Steve swayed dangerously and James backed behind him to keep him steady.

“Please tell me that’s yours.” Steve gulped, reaching back to gather the hem of James’ cloak in his hand. For stability, of course. 

Sam laughed, a bright summery thing that made James’ head sink a little into his shoulders. It was the kind of joy Steve had sometimes, the kind James couldn’t fathom. These people with their smiles and laughter like bells, and he a shadow among them. 

“Yes, thank them All. This is Falcon,” Sam noticed their twin looks of incredulousness, “Our daughter named him. Kids, right?”

The man beside Sam chuckled, ”What Aretta wants, she gets. I’m Riley,” Riley didn’t offer to exchange hands since Sam had already established intentions.

Steve’s expression did something James had never seen it do before. Steve smiled, but his eyes… his eyes had too many emotions for James to understand. It was a sadness as deep as the sea but tinged with a warmth that made it all the harder to see. 

“Right,” Steve whole-heartedly agreed as they started walking towards the massive Roc. 

“Wait,” James paused, turning towards the horse and their belongings.

Sam waved his concern away,” Don’t worry, your horse and packs will be brought up as well.” James didn’t know how they were going to get the horse wherever they were going, but by now he’d learned the Sages were as frustratingly mysterious as Steve. 

To James’ quiet dismay, the closer they drew to the Roc the more he could see a wide platform saddled to its back. It was large enough for ten to fit comfortably, twenty if pushed together. It had cushions sewn to the platform for them to sit on, along with braided ropes wrapped in soft cloth. It wasn’t until they were seated that he realized they were for holding themselves in place.

Steve tittered, knocking his shoulder to James’ arm, ”This is the first time I’ve seen you nervous,” Steve was enjoying it far too much for James’ taste.

“I am  _ not _ nervous, I just don’t believe riding on the back of a winged predator is a good idea.” Sam and Riley kicked off into the air, leaving in a trail of whistles. “Were you not the one complaining about heights before?”

Waving the question away, Steve just grinned,” Yes, but I didn’t get to tease you about it either.”

The Roc shifted, getting to its feet, jostling them back and forth. Steve laughed, arms twined around two lengths of rope while his hair swayed too and fro against his forehead. 

James, on the other hand, clung to his ropes, gritting his teeth as the Roc planted itself, wings poised — 

And then suddenly they were being propelled into the air by one, two, three powerful strokes of the Roc’s wings, lifting them higher and higher. He couldn’t see Sam and Riley anymore, only hear their distant whistles within the clouds. 

The Roc took them higher still, cold water from pillowy clouds clinging to their eyelashes as they climbed. James closed his eyes, warding away the dampness as one after another the Roc waded through the sky. 

After what felt like half an hour, Steve gasped, and James opened his eyes. 

There, nestled in a valley of clouds, hung a city. It was perched on a spire of sandstone pocked with tunnels and windows, more massive than any city James had ever seen within Hydra. It boasted towers that soared into the sky, disappearing into the next layer of voluminous white. Bountiful vegetation spread among buildings, homes, ponds and trees. All around it, Harpies flew, swooping into its sandstone base or descending into the city proper. 

But more than anything, it shined.

It was a saffron mist that clung to its spires, its stone homes, or the stone below. It radiated not with opulence, but with splendor.

“It’s...amazing.” Steve had to shout over the howl of the wind, and James could only nod. 

Even the Roc’s great size was no match for this kingdom in the sky, comfortably coming to rest in a lush field painstakingly tended to. James could smell ripe fruit even from his lofty perch. 

Steve was up and scrambling down from the Roc’s ‘saddle’ before James could snatch him by the back of the cloak like an unruly child. James grumbled, untangling himself from the ropes and far more elegantly getting down from the overgrown turkey’s back. The Roc groused at him as he walked by, clacking its beak lined with disturbingly sharp teeth as if it had read his mind. 

He was beginning to hate birds. 

“James!” Steve called from the edge of the garden, leaning in to sniff a fat lumpy fruit the color of ash pocked with sunset orange. It was hideous, but Steve only smiled as he carefully brushed his fingertips over it. 

James walked over, looking around the stunning landscape and noticing far more fruits that looked wildly more inviting than the bulbous mass Steve was in awe of. “It looks as if a blackberry had a plague.” He smirked.

For a brief moment, Steve aimed a peevish huff over his shoulder before his eyes widened and he chuckled, ”Your joking is improving.”

“I wasn’t joking,” But Steve just ignored him, humming low as he looked longingly at the fist-sized fruit. 

Wings fluttered behind them as Sam and Riley touched down, not looking near as wind-swept as he and Steve did. 

“Take it,” Sam encouraged, walking up beside them to pluck another one, passing it off to James.

All too happy to accept Steve grabbed the one he’d been eyeing with careful hands. ”They’re Phoenix fruits, aren’t they? I read about them before I was imprisoned.” They all shared a collective frown as Steve so easily referred to his captivity. 

“They are, this is the only place they grow now. Natural disaster and over-farming have choked them out of existence otherwise.” Riley replied with a morose sigh. 

James eyed the fruit, ”With such a name you would think they’d be more resilient.”

This, for some reason, was absolutely hilarious to the other three, who shared a raucous laugh that was wildly unnecessary. “No, that’s not why they are namesakes. The tree itself is very peculiar where it grows, but — well, go ahead, eat.” Riley encouraged, sharing a quietly amused glance with his husband. 

Steve didn’t need to be told twice. He bit into the fruit, a burst of sunshine yellow juice dribbling to the ground. Delight lit up his eyes, a quietly gasped ‘Oh’ puffed against the supple flesh. 

Less enthused, James looked down at the fruit, stifled a sigh, and bit. 

He was no master of words, but if he had to attempt to describe the taste, it would be the dawn. A faintly acidic tang immediately overwhelmed in a sweetness so deep it permeated right down into his bones. There were more notes than he’d ever tasted before, sour, tang, even a touch of smokiness that all blended together in a way that shouldn’t make sense, but did. 

For one intense, amazing moment, he was happy, staring at Steve who was beaming right back at him.

“The Phoenix Fruit was used as medicine. Said to be capable of bringing back a man on the brink of death. A gift from the All, which is why it’s so hard to cultivate. The price has to be high to have such a reward.” Sam said and James found himself listening with wide-eyed interest. 

“Unfortunately, like a Phoenix, it burns bright quickly and — “ As Sam spoke the fruits in their hands bubbled and melted, oozing down from their fingertips until they left only a smooth black pit in their hands, as inert as a lump of charcoal.

Steve turned the seed over in his hand, thumbing at it. ”I can see how people were its downfall,” He reached to pass the seed off to Riley, but he refused with a simple shake of his head that had his hair adornments tinkling again.

Sam took Steve’s hand in his, folding his pale fingers down against the seed. “Keep them, a gift from us. I know you aren’t here for gardening tips. It’s the least I can do for my part in everything.”

As they talked, the tingling on James' tongue faded. The radiant warmth that had filled his chest to bursting flickered and the darkness smothering once more, taking the momentary happiness with it. He was left staring at the pit as misshapen and dark as how he felt inside. Ugly. So ugly. 

He dropped the pit and turned to the tree, grabbing for another.

A gasp, a shout, and a strong hand all seized him at once. ”Don’t!” Steve’s mouth was faster than his body, but Sam had taken him by the shoulder and forcibly dragged him back with more strength than James would have expected out of a bird.

“Why? Steve, I...you don’t understand!” Why were they trying to stop him from feeling something more than pain and hungering teeth that haunted every moment he closed his eyes? Steve had said they were friends, that Steve would  _ help _ him!

“James, please.” Steve stepped between James and the trees, reaching out to take the hand on his spelled arm. An arm that burned with an intensity that felt far greater now that he’d had a moment’s reprieve. “You can’t. They’re poisonous. More than one bite would make you direly sick. You can only consume the flesh once every moon cycle, and the longer you eat it the more toxins build up until eventually it would kill you.”

A small, desperate noise so unlike James caught in the back of his throat. The fruit hung so invitingly in their ugly trees with too-thin leaves the color of a dry autumn. He was strong, Hydra had made him that way, surely he could take one more bite and not suffer the consequences?

Steve’s body lined up against his own, and thin, warm arms looped around his waist. “I’m sorry, James, I wasn’t thinking. That was cruel of me.” His forehead pressed against James’ sternum and slowly, his eyes tracked down to the long tresses of Steve’s blond head. 

Moment by moment, he forced the tension to bleed out of his body. Sam’s hand didn’t let go until the last bit of struggle had left him, leaving nail-sized holes in the leather in his wake.

“You have our apologies too, if we’d had known, we wouldn’t have encouraged you.” Sam bent and picked up the dropped seed, expression heavy .”Sometimes I forget the hardships of the kingdoms below and the hurts of mankind.” 

Sam and Riley’s expressions were an echo of the past. The same expression the Star Lord Players looked at him with the morning they departed. His reaction had sparked something to them all, but what, James didn’t know. 

He could fill a library with all the things he didn’t know.

“Come, rest up for a little while, and we’ll show you more than poisonous fruit.” Sam pocketed the seed and clapped, forcing a brighter expression on his gold-flecked lips. 

Steve stepped away, and James caught himself before he could do something so foolish as to chase after him. 

“I’m sure James would agree, but a bath would be wonderful right about now. I don’t harbor any hate to the sand, but I do take issue with the clinginess of it.” Steve’s nose scrunched, earning chuckles out of their hosts. Their eyes were off James, and for that, he was thankful. 

He walked a few steps behind the trio as Sam led them to a castle-like terracotta estate, open doors carved wide to allow for the Harpie’s wings. Steve back glanced the entire way, as if he was checking to see if he was still there. James, for once, didn’t blame him for his distrust. If not for the constant eyes he couldn’t say if his will would have stayed stalwart in the face of temptation. 

He was used to poison, what was a little more?

Sometimes there was something to be said about Steve’s wisdom. A few times it had led them astray, including the incident with the bees (and damn Steve’s lust for honeycomb), but a bath had been a medicine James readily indulged. 

He swirled a hand lazily in the milky water, inhaling the sweet scent of flowers and the powdery mineral Steve had sprinkled in from little jars on the side of the large basin. He had thought the hot springs in Thor’s mountain were luxurious, but the sunlight streaming in through the windows and the chirp of birds roosting outside added a serenity that the mountain’s thunder had lacked.

“Isn’t this amazing, James?” Steve buzzed around the room, going from window to window. ”An entire populace, in the sky! I wonder what magic keeps it suspended? Do you think it’s made by a person or naturally? And how did they get the grass to take up here? The water!” James wasn’t answering any of Steve’s questions but he didn’t think he was meant to.

Steve chattered right up until he walked in, rolling his eyes. ”You didn’t get your hair at all. I don’t know how it isn’t a rat’s nest on your head.” Grumbling, he strode forward and nudged at James’ shoulder. “Get it clean, I’ll find some hair oil around here somewhere.”

Once again, he trusted Steve’s knowledge on how to care for oneself past basic maintenance and let himself slip underneath the water. 

_Where was he? It was cold, so unbearably cold. He flailed through the water, desperately trying to kick towards the surface when he didn’t know up from down. Distantly, he heard crying, voice after voice wailing into the darkness._ I’m cold _wailed one,_ It hurts _cried another_. _Closer to him, one whimpered,_ I want my mommy **.**

_ Their screams folded into his own, endless shouting into the void. And then suddenly, a burst of blinding light, and he was alone. _

James sat up heaving, hands gripping the side of the bathtub, afraid he’d float away back into the nothingness. From the bedroom, Steve shouted triumphantly, ”Found something suitable! It smells of perfumed castor.” He walked back in, brows furrowing immediately.

“Are you alright?”

Was he? James looked down at his iron grip that threatened to crack the tiling of the tub and let go, hiding his hands within the milky water. ”I’m fine, just a..fragment of a memory.”

“Oh,” Steve approached, pulling up a stool to sit behind him after rolling up his pant legs to let his feet drop into the water. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

He half expected Steve to pursue it, however, blessedly, Steve took a measure of oil into his hands and started working it through James’ hair. “Do you cut it?” Steve asked instead, pausing to pick up a wooden comb to start gently dragging it through to distribute the oil.

“...No,” James knew this to be strange. Steve’s hair was longer than it had been before. It had taken a few gems for it to be noticeable but Steve’s body was changing, however slightly. His own had not changed since the day he’d left Hydra. A puzzle piece he was too stupid to understand. 

Steve merely shrugged and continued to groom him, not stopping until he’d gathered the shoulder-length curtain into a small, loose braid. “There, now in return, you can do mine.” He got up, wet feet slapping against the floor, his long fall of hair swaying in his wake.

“I don’t think that equivalent,” James mumbled as he too stood, grabbing a fluffy towel from a nearby basket. Steve only laughed. It was harder for the lingering dark haze to taint his world when Steve started up his commentary again as James trailed the comb through his hair. Occasionally, he’d used his fingers to glide the oil through, letting the pale hair fall through his hand, whispers of sunlight on his skin. 

The music started soon after, cheerful notes that echoed through the long halls, filling the estate with vibrancy. 

Their things had been brought to them nearly an hour ago, their clothing hastily taken away to launder. All of which was why James found himself without armor for the first time in public since he could remember. The deep red garment clung tighter to his body than he would have liked, the v of the chest deeper than he was accustomed. Similarly silky, the brown trousers were more comfortable in the cut, though it all felt distinctly unlike him. He was used to rough spun fibers from Hydra and the pressure of his leathers molded to his body. Not...comfort.

Steve, on the other hand, looked relaxed in the pale grey and green outfit similar to James’ own in cut. His braid hung elegantly off one shoulder, shining brightly from the carefully applied oil. Without the drab, ill-fitting traveling clothes or heavy cloak, Steve looked noble. Not at all the low-born son of a widower he was. 

“You said you studied before you were imprisoned,” James remembered, following in Steve’s footsteps as he led the way down the hall, ever the faithful shadow. 

There was a brief hitch in Steve’s step, ”Yes. Obviously, I wasn’t taken to the cave immediately. They trained me a little, taught me more letters in other languages, how to recognize spell work, things I would need to know and understand so I could better ready the kingdoms for times of attack.” James had wondered how Steve had known so much. The thought of Steve sitting under the tutelage of the same people that had kidnapped him ‘for a greater purpose’ filled his stomach with bile.

Another thought popped into mind, ”Sam said he had regrets. Were all the Sages not in agreement?”

Steve’s lips twisted with a rueful chuckle, ”Decidedly not. Sam was vehemently against it, Thor was reluctant, and Bruce didn’t seem like it was the path he’d taken without some nudging. The two most for it was a woman with red hair. I don’t remember her name...I, honestly, don’t remember much about any of them until I see them. I think a guise was placed on me, that I might forget.” They were drawing closer to the din of voices and music, and Steve breathed deep and turned to face him.

“But none of that for now. Sam has made us welcome and I, for one, am looking forward to more friendly faces aside from sand lizards and birds. We’ve had a long road, let’s rest for tonight.” Steve reached, grasping his hand with effortless ease the way he did these days when their surroundings allowed for it. 

James glanced at their hands, held Steve’s a little tighter, and nodded. 

He had thought the Players rambunctious and Thor too loud, but the Harpies of the floating kingdom surpassed them all. Twin songbirds belted undulating notes from a platform hung from the ceiling, their feathers a tantalizing swirl of soft ribbon and shimmer dust. The music, while loud, wasn’t so jarring to concuss his senses, but merely accentuated the singers above. 

But truly, James wasn’t paying attention to any of that, not when the food provided was so tempting. Steve himself seemed torn between watching the people that periodically got up from the long tables to dance and stuffing his face full of hand pies made from quail and starchy roots. 

Sam joined their end of the table in short order, sitting across from them with a goblet of wine in one hand. ”Has the rest reenergized you? You both seem in better spirits.” He observed, sipping at his drink while reaching to pick up a fat berry from a platter between his talons. 

Instead of speaking with his mouth full, Steve swallowed and took a sip of his own wine. ”Far better, you’ve been most generous.”

Sam waved his hand and drained the rest of his glass. ”It’s my pleasure. Despite the circumstances, you’ve single-handedly kept the kingdoms safe for seventy years, Steven. This — “ He swept his hand around the room, ”Is poor repayment. You have done something amazing with something terrible, and for that, you have my eternal gratitude.” Steve was growing progressively pinker as Sam went on, and a small, barely-there smile tugged on James’ lips. 

“Now, I’m going to go find my husband deep in his cups and dance.” Sam stood up, ”And I suggest you both do the same.” He winked and strode off to hook his lover around the waist and haul him bodily to the dance floor, sharing laughter as they went. 

To his surprise, Steve stood as well. ”I think I’ll do just that, dance with me.” James stared at Steve’s thrust hand hovering a few inches in front of his face. 

“What?”

“I said, dance with me.” 

So James had heard him correctly the first time. ”Steve, I don’t know how.” As if that was his most pressing issue.

“Well, luckily for you, I neither do I, but that’s never stopped me.” Steve grinned, tugging at the soft material of his sleeve. ”Dance with me, one song is all I ask.” James didn’t think there were any distinct ‘songs’ the Harpies above sang, which was probably Steve’s intention. 

Staring at the smile suspended above him, James remembered the crushing rush he’d felt after the Phoenix Fruit, and the disturbing flash of cold water and screams in the bathtub. It all felt kept at bay, for now, held back by laughter, music, and Steve’s insistent hand.

He wanted what they had. 

James stood, and Steve’s smile beamed. He let himself be tugged to the dancefloor, trying to ignore the eyes that tracked their path. They were the only ones without feathers or talons, which for some reason made him feel ungainly despite never having feather-envy before. It was hard to look at all the glossy feathers and rhythmic bodies and not feel somehow boorish in comparison.

As he’d been with the Players, Steve had no natural talent for dance. His sense of rhythm was off and his elbows lethal weapons, however, the obvious joy he took in the music was what had James enthralled. Although he was allowed to watch for only moments before Steve quirked his brow expectantly. 

A flurry of insects had surely taken residence in James’ stomach, for with that look his insides squirmed. He had no idea what to do. He’d never  _ danced _ before. Or...not that he’d remembered. Surely he had before? In another life? Most cultures had some sort of dance or approximation. An expression of joy. Hydra’s own version of music was somber and reserved for the aristocratic only, not for lowly commoners or slaves like himself. 

Steve took his other hand, and swung, guiding his body into motion. 

“Come on, you can do better than that! I’ve seen you fight, you know how to move.” Steve urged over the music, gestures growing more grand and dynamic. James let himself be swept up in Steve’s clumsy steps, letting his body be tugged into motion in their wake. 

The evening thrummed on, and so did they, falling into the rhythm of taking small breaks to eat and drink before returning to dance. The clacking of talons on the tiles only added to the beat, and James found his own feet following their guidance. The music flowed through him, so much sweeter than the sinister whispers in the back of his mind. It swept him up, floating him along the rolling notes. 

Soon enough, he led their steps, guiding Steve’s body after his own through the range of motions picked up from the revelers around them, translated for the human form. Steve fell into step, movements more controlled and focussed with someone there to harness his enthusiasm. 

But Steve was never one to be corralled for long, and he took a step too ambitiously and fell forward. James held fast, letting Steve stumble harmlessly into his chest as he dropped a hand to brace against Steve’s narrow waist.

Their eyes met, and Steve’s lips parted, panted breath sweet with mulled wine. His cheeks were flushed, pink all the way down to his neck and stray strands of hair escaping his braid. James noticed all of this, cataloging it all with the same precision he used to track an enemy...but Steve was everything but. 

Steve swallowed, and James’ eyes tracked lower, lingering on the swells of Steve’s lips the color of summer astilbe. 

The music swelled and a nearby flash of feathers jarred them from their stupor, breaking apart with a shy smile from Steve. Steve led him away from the dancefloor for refreshments, and flopped down into his chair. ”I think I am done in. I don’t know how they do it!” He drank deeply, and James wondered how much of his blush was from wine. 

“We should retire, then you can sleep on a bed instead of the sand.” James enjoyed the times when their travels afforded them a chance for Steve to sleep on a proper bed. James was suited for his bedroll, rough and calloused from his life, but Steve deserved to be comfortable. To not sleep with one eye open and a hand on a sword. 

Steve chortled and got back up, leaning heavily into James’ side. ”But the sand is warm after the sunsets, and that is a gift. If I had the talent I would spell heat runes on stones to warm our sheets, but alas, I suppose you’ll do instead.”

They had slept in the same bed more times than James could count by now, though to his knowledge, tonight was the only night he was conscious of their touch or the way Steve’s breath warmed his shoulder.

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

James sat on a bench below a wide arched window overlooking the grounds, sipping quietly at a cup of coffee. If possible, the pleasantness of the morning was even better than the strange sense of excitement of the night before. He knew he’d had troubling dreams in the night, of what he couldn’t recall, only that he’d briefly woken to Steve petting his hair and hushing him back to sleep. 

“Do you know where you’re going next?” Sam asked where he sat with Steve, both already finished with breakfast. The Sage was leaning over, peering at the left-most gem on Steve’s forehead. 

Steve shrugged, glancing briefly over at James, ”Not yet, but it will come. It always does.” 

Sam reached for the gem, paused, then sighed. ”This might sting.”

Which brought something to question,” Why are all the gems removal so different?” James asked, standing up from his seat to rejoin them on a cushioned matt nestled near a low-burning brazer.

“All of them are different. All of them have different prices. It’s easier to give than take away, power most of all.” Sam sighed and pricked his thumb with a talon, welling a fat red bead to his fingertip.

He touched his bloodied thumb to the emerald and Steve gasped and would have dropped his cup had James not darted forward to catch it from his fingertips.

James watched Steve carefully, noting his eyes widening and body tensing. After a few minutes, all Steve uttered was a strained, “Oh,” leaning against James to catch his breath. 

Sam held the gem in his palm, regarding it with a sad smile. ”They are burdens, aren’t they? For all their good. I don’t know how you handled all of them, Steven. You are a remarkable man.” The solemness felt out of place in a room decorated with bright fabrics and streaks of the early morning sun. Sadness should have no residence among the clouds.

“I’m not, I just dealt with the hand given to me.” Steve pulled himself off James’ arm, ignoring the furrowing of James’ brow. He would have liked Steve to rest a little longer, but that was akin to getting a toddler down to nap — 

Why had he known anything about toddlers?

“Be stubborn about it, but my opinion holds the same.” It seemed Sam was just as stubborn, which suited James just fine to have Steve arguing with someone else for once. 

Except before the bickering could break out two Harpies swooped in through one of the arches, feathers puffed and talons clacking hurriedly against the tiles. ”Sir, there’s trouble. Hydra is pressing in on the Kingdom of Pegasus, it will only be a matter of time before they’re on our borders as well.” James recognized the woman from Sam’s ‘welcoming’ party the day before, the only difference being, she was shaken. 

Hearing ‘Hydra’, the cup James had saved from Steve clattered to the ground. Immediately Steve’s hand was on his squeezing tight.

“Steve — “

“I know,” Steve’s voice was steadier than his own.

Sometimes James forgot Steve couldn’t hear the whispers that he did. The menacing darkness licking its chops, waiting for him to wander into the dark. 

Sam came to the same conclusion shortly after and stood. In a flash of light the emerald disappeared, reappearing moments later on Sam’s high cheekbone in a gemstone tear. ”Ready them transport away from here, top priority, Hydra mustn’t find the Oracle.” He ordered, and things moved quickly from there.

They shared a hasty goodbye in the field, arms laden with heavy packs from the Harpies’ generous nature.

“Have heart. The journey is long, but it is not lonely.” Sam offered them both a firm squeeze and a fond smile before bidding them goodbye. 

James couldn’t summon the fear for the Roc as he had before when something much worse loomed on the horizon. What he did feel, however, was regret. He watched the floating kingdom be swallowed up by the clouds as they swayed with the ebb and flow of wings, wishing they’d been allotted more time. Wishing he could have tasted the fruit on his lips once more. He’d seen a glimpse of clarity there and knew he would never see the likes again. 

Once back on the ground and mounted, they rode hard. Where it had taken them weeks to traverse Sam’s kingdom it took only a matter of hours before sand and stone gave way to grass and flat plains. Nonetheless, they were too close to the border with Pegasus than they would like but Steve insisted they should remain in the kingdom of Harle for the time being.

On the third day of their flight, Steve nudged them farther north and said to follow a river. 

“Have you had a vision then?” James asked over a hasty lunch, not used to having to strike up conversation when Steve had more than enough to spare. Steve had been quiet since breakfast, eyes downcast and shoulders heavy. 

Steve shook his head, ”Not as such, or recently. This is old but necessary.” Steve’s hands clenched against the fabric on his knees. He left most of his meal untouched, even the delicious oatcakes Riley had sent them off with. The Harpies had been generous, even more so than some of the Sages in the past. James would never say it out loud but he took quiet pleasure in the bundle of flower-and-herb scented soap and oil that had been tucked into their packs. 

These things they were given to enjoy were the only true possessions they had, and realizing that Steve was the same as he, someone displaced in time and without anything to his name was a startling revelation.

It was nearly sundown when they rode towards a small town tucked around the river, hearth fires already stoked to bloom plumes in the chimneys throughout, readying for a chilly night. 

“There’s an inn, just there.” Steve pointed to a taller building in the distance with worn brick-colored paint and a tall oak towards the back. 

James hopped down from the horse to guide them in. His feet crossed into the town proper, and things blurred. The insistent sensation of _wrong_ melded with the warmth of safety the likes he’d never known. His feet lead him down the streets as if they knew where they were going, and within minutes they stood in front of the two-story Inn with the name of ‘Barnes’ written across a signboard, ancient handprints pressed against the edges with layers upon layers of paint.

His fingers itched, imagining paint drying on his fingertips. 

Steve walked past, nudging him to stable the horse while he procured a room. Sam had gifted them coin despite them still having reserves from Thor, even if Steve had initially refused. James wasn’t so prideful as to deny as it was foolish considering the journey they had ahead of them. There were two more gems, and Steve still promised to untangle the knotted threads of his mind. 

He walked to a table in a daze, nearly bumping into patrons milling around sharing pints or tapping their toes to the musicians plucking away near the fireplace. It was warm, the scent of rich stews melding with pipe smoke. A few tables over people erupted into laughter as an old codger slapped the table with a delighted cackle. 

They sat and James gripped the aged wood to keep himself upright, staring ahead at Steve that sat with a small, strained smile on his pale lips. As if he was trying to apologize. 

“Be right with you gents!” A woman’s voice rang out and James swiveled to watch her bouncy dark auburn waves sway around her face, peachy lips spread in a welcoming smile. Her skirts swayed around her legs as she bustled from table to table.

He could hear a little girl singing, echoed, distant notes of the past.

_Girls and boys_ _  
_ _Come out to play_ _  
_ _The moon does shine_

_As bright as day_

  
  


He swayed, hands slipping from their tight grip, and darkness swallowed him.

James didn’t think he’d ever been so prone to fainting until he’d met Steve. These days, his mind was on the brink, ready to buckle under the slightest of pressures. Whatever magic Steve still wove through him at night made the ice thinner day by day. He feared for the moment he took a wrong step and finally fell under, never to come back up. 

What if, whatever had happened to him couldn’t be undone?

A gentle touch greeted his restlessness, body shifting on a surface too soft to be the floor. A bed? He groaned and above him Steve gently shushed him, pressing a damp cloth to his forehead.

“Steve,” He croaked, forcing his eyes open despite the pounding of his skull. 

Steve hushed him again, “Be still, Bucky.”

James shook his head, the cloth dribbling water into his hair. ”N-no, this...this place. I know what it is.” James insisted, the visions of bustling skirts and a man’s heavy boots loud in his skull. 

Steve stilled, that sad, apologetic smile returning. ”I know.” It cost him something to admit it, body sagging with the relief of not carrying around the burden any longer. 

James looked at him, damp brows pulling in, ”You knew? ...my name?”

Steve stood from the bedside chair and sat at the end of the bed, reaching over to hook his fingers around James’ ankle. ”I knew. I had a vision many years ago of you, only brief glimpses, nothing set in stone, and a name whispered. James Buchanan Barnes, but you insisted on ‘Bucky’.” His eyes drifted around the room, breathing in the ancient Inn. ”I hadn’t known for sure, not until I saw the sign above the door.”

Only the din of the people below disrupted the silence, James — No. _Bucky_ too shaken to say much more. 

“I’ll fetch us some breakfast, your sleep wasn’t very restful.” Steve squeezed his ankle, lingering for a moment longer before rising and quietly stepping out of the room. 

Painstakingly Bucky sat up, resting his back against the carved headboard. He remembered now, his Grandfather had crafted a good deal of these beds, and Bucky’s father...George, his name was George, he’d carved the rest. 

His hand drifted down, feeling the wood smooth by age underneath the stuffed straw mattress. Sturdy, as sturdy as the inn built generations ago by Barnes long past. His ancestral home, as foreign to him as familiar. 

Steve returned bearing a tray of porridge, each bowl topped with nuts and berries. Seed cake occupied the side, honeyed, the sticky-sweet scent hitting him right in the gut.

“Winnifred, my mother — that was her recipe. She...she said she had learned from her grandmother but had made it better. Becca tried to make it but...she had no knack in the kitchen.” It fell from his lips as easy as breathing, a rush of memories that felt like needles behind his eyes.

Pouring them a measure of tea, Steve sat cross-legged with the tray between them. ”Do you remember then?”

Bucky’s eyes shut, diving into the pain and letting it wash over him, even as his nose began to drip crimson. ”Only bits and pieces, but I — I remember what happened. I was a boy then, barely twelve summers. We had heard of Hydra, on the borderlands, but it felt far away. The day we learned Triskelion had been overthrown by Hydra plants was when the army came.”

His heart had beat wildly in his chest as he ran with his mother and sister and his clutched dagger; the sight of his father falling to a pike driven deep into his gut seared into his young mind.

He’d heard men behind him, inhuman shrieks pulled from greyed throats. “Father said to protect them. I… I told them to run, told them to get to the mountains where our people had explored for generations. They knew them, knew where to hide. I tried to buy them time, but instead of killing me…” Bucky swallowed hard, eyes trained on a fat raspberry atop his untouched breakfast.

They’d been grotesque. Humans once upon a time, raised by fell magic. Mangled, ugly things dripping with fetid pitch ooze. Beings Bucky recalled from his departure from Hydra but had never known that he had been captured by puppetry soldiers.

“I don’t know why they took me. Or what happened after, I just...remember Becca screaming in Ma’s arms as they ran. I don’t — I don’t even know if they made it, Steve.” The wooden spoon at his fingertips quivered against the bowl.

A pale hand reached to take the spoon from him, grasping his broader hand as tightly as Steve could manage. ”They did, I spoke with the woman downstairs. Her grandmother was Becca, Buck. That means they must have made it. Your niece is an old woman now, but she too is alive. She made the seed cake. Heather said so. The daughter of your niece is named is Heather.” Buck. He’d only just found out his name and Steve had already made a nickname for a nickname. Steve had done so much, given him more than Bucky knew he deserved. He should be grateful.

But…

He shivered, head bowing as hot tears slid down his cheeks, trickling down into his porridge. ”Why Steve… _why_ does it hurt so much?” Bucky gasped, clinging to the offered hand with the desperation of a child to their mother’s skirt. ”It hurt less to be blank.” To be nothing. _Less_ than nothing.

Steve twined his other hand in Bucky’s hair, bringing their foreheads together, the sweet wafting steam of their breakfast underneath. ”I know, it all does.” If there was anyone in this world that could understand the jagged wound bleeding out unseen for years within, it was the small man with the weight of the kingdoms on his shoulders. 

He had never believed in the will of the All before but bent together and a tender touch on his scarred hands, he thought that perhaps, at least, someone had guided their paths. Whoever it may have been, Bucky was thankful, for he would have never had the strength to do this without Steve. 

And maybe — hopefully, Steve needed him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time stone soap made by chaosmanor. Made with saponified coconut oil, palm oil , cacao butter, shea butter, almond oil and castor oil to give a firm bar with good cleansing properties. Fragrance is pear.


	13. Chapter 13

After the night in the Inn, things changed. 

Bucky stepped into his name easily enough, but that was the only thing easy about the newfound revelation of who he’d been. What Hydra had taken from him. Worse, was the hold Hydra had on him, so much more noticeable now that he had something tangible to fight it with. 

His fingers dug into the meat of his upper arm as he stared restlessly into the darkness beyond their low-burning fire. Steve slept beside him, brows furrowed in his sleep. Tonight’s session had been difficult. In Steve’s words, the tether Hydra had on him was trying to dig in like a stubborn tick. His Handler must have known something had changed in him and was trying to exude even more influence. Call him back.

Steve had slumped down into a heavy slumber the moment he’d taken his hands from Bucky’s head. Sleep didn’t come so easily for Bucky.

His nails dug into his sleeve, teeth clenched against the pain tearing away at every one of his senses. The tattoo sang with a new intensity, raising fevered blisters against the flesh surrounding it. No matter the herb or poultice it grew more inflamed day by day. If not for his need to protect Steve, Bucky had entertained severing it in his darkest moments, pain worsened by fleeting sleep. 

It had been two weeks since they’d left the wondrous halls of the Aerie, a distant dream that might have happened a lifetime ago. Those moments of rest and care felt bittersweet to him now, for they never lasted. Perhaps they never would. 

What sort of life would he lead after being free of Hydra, if he ever could be? Steve was a gifted Seer in his own right, surely he would be readily accepted in any city’s temples. But what skills had Bucky aside from blood? Mercenary work, that was a given, but the idea gnawed at his gut. He didn’t want to be used again, someone’s arrow to be pointed and loosed. He could pick his jobs on his own terms, but even then he wasn’t sure if he could trust himself.

Without Steve, did he even know how to choose right from wrong anymore?

The tattoo blazed and he swallowed a hiss threatening on his tongue so he wouldn’t wake Steve. Perhaps Hydra had tainted him beyond purification. Perhaps he would remain a ghost, doomed to walk the lands without purpose with only violence to his name.

His eyelids drooped in the wee morning hours and, all too soon, Steve sitting up and stretching roused him. He blinked alert, catching Steve looking at him with an expression too soft and understanding. 

“What?” He snapped, more peevishly than he had any right too. 

Steve shook his head, “Nothing. I’ll fix breakfast.” Which only made Bucky feel worse. Steve was the only person he had in the world, the only one that knew him, knew  _ Bucky _ , and he was burning too hot even to avoid scalding his only friend. 

Again, the blade on his hip hung heavy with temptation. 

Another handful of days later Steve Dreamed. Bucky sat and watched, quietly marveling at the dulling glow of magic behind Steve’s eyes. The more gems were removed from his body, the more  _ normal _ the ‘Oracle’ grew. Steve was powerful in his own right, but he was no longer the otherworldly waif Bucky had discovered in that cave. Except, in these moments, where his small body sang with magic and visions filled his dreams; guiding hands nudging him along the paths of the future.

Nothing was amiss until Steve started to gasp and thrash beneath the fur, anguish written in the lines of his sharp features. “Steve?” Bucky leaned closer, afraid to touch when Steve was in the throws of his Dreaming. 

Before he was forced to choose Steve’s eyes tore open, chest heaving into a pained shout. He flailed until he caught Bucky’s sleeve, big eyes staring up, his skin pale and drawn. ”They’re attacking them, Buck.”

“Who?” He prompted, unclenching his hand from over his tattoo to wrap around Steve’s shoulders. 

Steve shivered, huddling into his side, ducking his head against Bucky’s shoulder. ”Hydra. They’re attacking York, where the next Sage is. I saw it, they’re going to — or...are...I don’t know yet if it Is or Will be.” A frustrated huff escaped him. ”But we have to hurry whatever the case.

Bucky looked up at the sky, charting the position of the moon and stars. “There’s some time yet till daybreak, can you not sleep some more?” Steve was more prone to exhaustion after Dreaming and Bucky wouldn’t tolerate Steve pushing himself too hard. 

“No, I’ve had all the sleep I can stomach.” Steve didn’t ask if Bucky was going to take a shift sleeping, not when they both already knew the answer. 

They packed up and carefully went into the night, moving with purpose towards the north. 

But like most living things, Bucky couldn’t ignore the siren call of sleep forever. He was fortified in ways other mortals weren’t thanks to Hydra, but even he needed a measure of rest to keep going. 

Three days after Steve’s vision, he succumbed. 

He woke to starlight shining over a field. Bucky blinked, groggy with a haze that felt beyond the sluggishness of waking. Tall grass swayed around him, licking against his fingertips. Perplexed, he looked down and found himself upright, standing in the middle of overgrown weeds.

Warm fingers laced with his, “You’re safe.” Steve said at his side in a sleepy but present rumble. 

Bucky shook his head free from the lingering lethargy, slowly turning to look at Steve standing at his side in the tall, stinging grasses. “...What happened?” Even his voice sounded strange, carrying the same rusted cadence it had when he’d first started waking with Steve’s aid.

“Hydra was calling you,” Steve’s voice softened as if he was afraid of being overheard. “I felt fell magic radiating from your tether and did what I could to combat it, but...diminished as I am, it isn’t as effective as it used to be. I’m sorry.” 

Bucky blinked incredulously at the apology. ”You don’t. . . need to apologize. You stayed with me?” Another few moments of his brain coming back to him brought another concern forward, ”Where are we? The horse?” He looked around, not spotting their campsite in the immediate area. 

Steve pointed back through a trail left in the grass, ”A little ways back there, I left us a path to follow and the horse tethered. Everything should be fine. I can still cast minor spells, enough to keep the fire burning in our absence.” Now that Bucky was looking, he could see the strain in Steve’s eyes, the weariness hanging under his eyes. Steve must have exerted an enormous strain on himself weaving both threads of magic at once, especially when he didn’t wield it easily by nature.

Slowly, they made their way back to camp, and just as Steve had assured the horse and their things were still safe. Being in the firelight made him feel marginally better, save for when the moon disappeared behind the lazy drift of the clouds. In the pitch of their shadows, Bucky felt eyes in the dark, ravenous creatures waiting for him to weaken and slip under again.

And still, the mark consumed.

He had two more episodes of walking off into the night during their travel towards York. Each time he was guided back by Steve’s hand, coaxed to the firelight. Every time Steve collapsed back into sleep’s arms, stubbornly curling his body against Bucky’s like he was determined to keep Bucky within the campsite by sheer force of will alone.

Then came a day where dark smoke filled the horizon and the song of birds faded. The sky was choked in acrid clouds that stank of burning oil and war. They crested a hill at the end of the day and saw the power of Hydra laid out before them trying to overtake a city of metal and stone. 

Industry was both York’s trade and the name of their capital city, and Industry was like no other. A gleaming city nestled against the coast, boasting rows of neat architecture the likes of which had to have cost a king’s fortune. Some were made of a sturdy red stone polished until it shined, and other buildings of a sheet metal Bucky couldn’t identify. That said nothing of the massive tower located at its center. A colossal cylinder of shining gold metal etched in red, bright as blood. Even the walls surrounding the coastal city were made of the same with heavy iron gates that should have kept any and all forces at bay. Save, of course, for the might of Hydra. 

One of the gates on the east wall was smashed inwards, letting the black-armored beings of Hydra’s army into the golden city. Disgusting, shambling soldiers that took torches to anything that would catch, screaming in triumph every time they came across something living to snuff out. 

Dread pooled hot and deep within Bucky, hands resting on his weapons to hide the shake from Steve’s keen sight. 

Beside him, Steve drew in a measured breath. ”The Sage is in the tower. I feel it.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on his sword and with another breath, he forced it to loosen. He drew it, the long dark blade hissing with delight against his scabbard. ”Stay on the horse, stay close.” The time for fear could come later, for now, he would do what he was made to do.

Except, this time he would  _ choose _ .

  
  
  


  
  


A screeching, chittering creature of grey skin and teeth went down in a spray of black ooze on his blade. A pivot-turn and another fell, slumping to the ground in a mass of flesh that immediately started to decay upon impact. 

The fetid stench of Hydra’s magic filled the air over the choking smoke, stinging at his lungs. A gust of wind swept his hair forward. A quick back glance spied Steve perched tall on the horse, expression pinched in concentration as he wove the air around them clear enough to draw a breath.

Down a side street, a heavy clang sounded and a beast went flying, only to smack into a nearby wall with a wet crunch. Resonant steps warned of an oncoming creation of Industry, a suit of gleaming gold metal the size of two men, swinging its weighty appendages at oncoming creatures. The massive machines stomped down streets throughout the city, crushing, beating, and squeezing the life out of the invasion milling at their feet. The suits never struck at the two of them, even when they were forced to weave around unwieldy mechanical limbs.

The sprawling city was a maze of battle, yet Bucky didn’t dare activate the spell that would grant him strength beyond his mortal body, not when he was surrounded by Hydra’s ilk. 

A sharp yell from behind pulled his blade up short and an enemy blade sank into the meat of his side. Gritting his teeth against it, Bucky turned, swinging his blade around to decapitate the snarling creature in front of him. In the same motion, he used the momentum to embed his knife into the skull of the attacker trying to pull Steve from the horse. 

He couldn’t say how long they waded through the throng, only that by the time they made it to the city’s center Steve shook with fatigue, and Bucky’s body was drenched in red and black blood. 

Bucky snagged the horse’s reins, tugging them forward around the perimeter of the tower, searching. They made a full circuit with no visible door to be seen, only smooth, gleaming metal.

“Fuck!” He growled, cutting down another enemy with a flick of his wrist. 

Steve was off the horse before Bucky could snatch him back to his side, running to place his hands flat against the building. He looked up, staring at the tower that seemed to reach as far as the clouds. Much to Bucky’s frustration, he paid no heed to the battle around them. Carefully, Steve leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the tower, touching the red gem to gold. 

A groaned thump of a heavy mechanism reverberated behind the uniform surface before a seam appeared. A door swung in with a hiss, steam rising from behind the hinge of the invisible door. 

Bucky pushed them through without another thought, horse and all. The door swung closed behind them the moment they crossed the threshold, leaving them in an open hall as ostentatious as the tower itself. 

To the left of them, the sound of a throat clearing echoed from a series of metal tubing that wound its way up into the ceiling. 

“Leave the horse? I just had the floors waxed.” They stared, and the voice sighed. ”Hurry up, will you? If you haven’t noticed, I’m a little busy here.” 

To their right another door slid open, revealing a small room of polished wood and steel. Faced with no other options they cautiously approached and stepped inside. The door sealed after them, trapping them in the box that flickered with unseen light. 

Bucky bristled, fist raised to bash against the door. Steve held fast with a small head shake, hand sliding up to thumb away soot and blood from underneath his eye. ”We’re fine.”

The box shuddered and chains clanked above them. They were being raised via the box, higher and higher through the tower. 

Minutes later the box stilled and the door pulled away.


	14. Chapter 14

“Ugh, you’re covered in blood, there goes my floor. ” A man greeted them as soon as they stepped from the box and into a room that was choked with machine parts, half-rolled scrolls, books, and at the center of it all a beacon of white light suspended in a silver cage of rotating wire. The entire room was threaded with the fingers of light, all spanning from the podium that held it. Right down to the man himself, hair-thin tendrils dully lighting up his short stature as if his very veins sang with the power that radiated from the orb. 

He was dressed in clothing worth more than what an entire village, sleek lines of black and red, with a waistcoat tailored so impeccably it would have fit like a second skin if it wasn’t unbuttoned and smeared in oil. A jeweler's half-mask sat on the left side of his face that wasn’t spared the treatment of oil and soot, his dark hair a halo of disarray.

Steve took point, uncaring if his soiled shoes tracked dirt and worse all over the plush red carpeting underneath their feet. The man made a note of distress. 

“I remember you,” Steve faced off with the man only a few inches taller than he.

Scoffing, the man rolled his eyes. ”As you should. Who could forget Tony Stark, Master Machinist and superb Arcanist, founder of Industry, and a Sage, which I  _ guess _ is why you’re here and not in the cave where they tucked you.” Tony smirked and immediately Bucky hated his guts. 

Steve’s jaw flexed, ”I want it removed.”

“Removed? Aren’t you supposed to be helping to protect the kingdoms?” Tony rolled his hand, the gold glove he wore articulating almost as flawlessly as the human hand beneath it. 

“It wasn’t my choice.” Steve’s voice hardened, sharper than Bucky’s blood-soaked sword. 

Tony snorted again, fiddling with a pile of scraps on one of the many cluttered work tables. ”Sacrifice for the good of the whole and all that.” He remarked flippantly as if he wasn’t talking about taking away Steve’s will. As if leaving Steve in a cave to linger sustained by magic and  _ alone _ was acceptable. 

Bucky stepped up beside Steve, gently grasping one bony shoulder with his gloved hand. ”One’s blood can’t buy peace.” It was something he was starting to realize in these days seeing the world for what it was. As long as there were men willing to hide behind war to ‘fight for peace’ then there would only be more bloodshed. The price of life could never be death. 

Pausing, Tony turned, brow quirked. ”Oh yeah? What would a Hydra Construct know of peace?” He smirked, chortling. 

Beside him, Steve drew in a sharp breath and stilled.

Bucky’s brows furrowed, “Constructs?”

Tony’s own brows climbed, ”What, really? You don’t  _ know _ ? How ‘bout that. Hydra’s really playing at some advanced stuff these days. I’d be impressed if it wasn’t, you know, terrifying.”

Reeling, Bucky shook his head, ”I don’t understand.”

With a roll of his eyes, Tony gestured at Bucky’s covered arm, ”Guessin’ that’s where the seal is, right? The arcane seal that’s keeping you upright? How I’d do it anyway if I was an evil bastard. Certainly gives off the stink of soul-binding. That’s why you’re a walkin’, talkin’ soldier, but in reality you’re just a scooped hollow man like my machines down there.” He shrugged, uncaring that Steve’s eyes dully glowed with the weight of his anger. 

Bucky shivered, hand raising to clench at the seal flaring hot against his skin. ”That’s — that’s not true. I have memories now, I  _ remember _ .”

“Yep,” Tony popped the ‘p’ and rocked on his heels, ”’Cause the seal is weak, open enough to thread back through to wherever that Necromancer of yours is running the show. Puppeteering your soul like a children’s toy, allowing you to remember little tidbits. Scraps.  _ Just _ enough to function, and, obviously, take orders. Let me guess, you still feel it though, right? The compulsions? Little weevil in your ear saying ‘kill kill kill’?”

He was going to be sick. It couldn’t be...not after what he’d remembered at the Inn. He wasn’t — “Steve?” He croaked to the one person who normally made sense. The person who had been suspiciously quiet the entire time.

Steve swallowed, turning to look up at him. Bucky didn’t even need to hear it to know it was true, but he was too stunned to keep Steve from saying, ”I’m — I’m so sorry Bucky.”

His stomach dropped, “You knew all along. Didn’t you?”

Steve tried to reach out but Bucky stepped away, “I — I’ve been keeping the spell weak, trying to pull at the connection as much as I dared. I knew...I had a vision of you, of what you were, in the cave. I exerted as much influence as I could there to surface  _ you _ enough so that you could use free will.”

More than arrows, swords, or spells, the words penetrated deep. Bucky’s grip creaked the well-oiled leather beneath it, digging hard enough to bruise bone. ”Or that I might choose to free you,” It made sense. It’s what magic users did. Manipulate things into their favor. Hydra’s Necromancers, the Sages, and even Steve. Twisting the world to their will. 

Pain wrote itself in Steve’s eyes, but it wasn’t nearly as painful as the betrayal that settled frigid in Bucky’s core. ”No, Bucky, please — “

Before any more lies could be weaved Bucky turned and strode back into the box. For a tense moment he feared Tony wouldn’t let him leave, yet before Steve could follow the door slid shut and started to lower him towards the ground floor.

If there was one comforting thing about the slow descent, it was that it gave him plenty of time to scream his rage where no one else could hear him break.

  
  


  
  
  


This time, slaughtering his way through the streets felt  _ good _ . Every time his sword bit flesh it was a rush of dark satisfaction that briefly chased away the fresh memory of Steve’s beseeching eyes.

A construct. An empty shell made from dark magic’s most grave tampering. It was one thing to make constructs of the elements or machinery like Tony, but one of living flesh? This body he inhabited might not even be his own, just another body Hydra had plucked from its home, repurposed for their own ill-gains. He should have known, only Hydra’s elite had looked like ‘normal’ people. He looked like them, talked like them, but he’d been treated worse than a dog. Whistle and he went where pointed.

Whatever he’d been, all those decades ago, was dead and gone. And this? A mere echo. He really was a ghost all along. 

He roared, charging forward to skewer his sword through the torso of a screeching terror, running it completely through and into the undead soldier behind it as well. He laid waste to anything in his path until he’d carved an even more bloodied path than he’d taken to the tower. 

By the time he leaned against one of the broken gates into the city to catch his breath, his body sang with relief. His wounds hurt, he stank of undead blood and worse, but this was who he was at the end of it all. A killer. 

And yet.

What would Steve do if he left for good? Obviously, Steve was more crafty than Bucky had ever believed. It was a good plan. Weaken a spell on a Hydra puppet to get himself out, have Bucky wrapped around his finger with the magic of the stones. He wondered if Steve had been lying about more things. Was he a better magic user than he’d said? Had Steve helped him at all? Or was it all just a means to an end?

He didn’t want to believe it, not after everything, but he didn’t know what to believe anymore. His judgment wasn’t to be trusted when he’d never had free will to start. 

Bucky’s shoulders sagged. Was it better to be controlled by Hydra, or Steve?

Gritting his teeth, he turned back towards the tower only to see a mass of bright orange tear through the air, soaring high above the city. He didn’t realize what it was until it was too late. The Mage-crafted fireball collided into the Tower, shearing off the top floors in a reign of fire that poured down into the city below.

He had thought hearing that he was a construct was one of the worst feelings life could muster, but he’d been wrong. Knowing the top floor was where he’d left Steve, seeing it in bent, smoldering ruins,  _ that _ was a sensation that sucked the air from his lungs until he couldn’t even scream. 

Step after step he urged his wobbling legs to run. It was foolish, surely Steve was dead, but he still had to try. Had to get to him — 

A low droning voice rumbled behind him, just audible over the chaos. In the same breath, it registered, his arm burst into unseen fire. Mercurial heat diffused through his veins, burning out all the warmth within him until only ice remained.

_ “Kill.” _ The word laced around the mumbled chant, animating his limbs with jerky twitches. 

He took a step down the blood-soaked street, eyes trained on the tower. He had to get to the tower. The compulsion boomed at the back of his skull as if someone was pounding their fist into a thin wall. Tower.  _ Tower _ .  **_Tower_ ** .

One of Tony’s lumbering machines swung down a side street, long arm poised to try and smear him into the pavement. The Ghost met its fist with his own and the metal crumpled in on itself. He lept, plunging his fingers into the glowing metal chestpiece in the center of the machine’s round torso. The magic animating the machine scorched his skin before it dissolved into a fine cloud of mist. 

Immediately, the machine fell, the impact a dull bell against the ruined streets. 

He took down two more machines and six Hydra’s own soldiers before he got back to the tower. The lower levels looked unchanged despite the top being in ruins, only smoldering hunks of debris clinging to the base. 

Through the haze of smoke and ash, he saw two figures emerge from the unseen door ahead. They were both largely unhurt, save for the glow against Tony’s skin being duller and less thrumming with power so far away from the source. The Ghost wondered, in some detached curiosity, if the power source had been destroyed in the blast. He would report it back to his Handler afterward. 

The two looked up as they saw The Ghost approach. Steve’s face lit up, words on his lips, but Tony’s steady hand against his shoulder held him from rushing forward. It must have clicked in that instance because Steve’s expression plummeted, and he croaked, ”Buck...Fight it, I know you can.”

The tendrils of magic within Tony flared to life, and the tower rumbled behind them. Four more machines stomped from rotating archways that immediately closed back up after the machine constructs emerged. They circled around Tony and Steve, shielding the two with their broad bodies. Not that it mattered. 

Red blood dribbled down his shirt sleeve from the activated tattoo, coiling around his limb until it ignited into black flame. For the first time in months, he remembered what true power felt like. Looking at his enemy and knowing the outcome was already decided. They were all dead, they just didn’t know it yet. 

His arm tore through the machines with brutal efficiency. Every move was calculated, positioning the fight where Tony and Steve could dart away or else risk The Ghost immediately dispatching them.

Piece by piece the machines fell, dented, ripped, or torn onto the once-polished cobblestones. 

A blast of white-blue magic jerked him sideways. Another made for his head but he caught it in his ensorcelled fist and snuffed it between his fingers. 

A few paces away Tony nudged Steve behind him, fists glowing brightly. “Run!” He barked without looking behind him, unaware of Steve squaring his shoulders and setting a stubborn jaw. 

“No, I can save him!” Steve insisted, even as The Ghost stalked forward, switching his blade to his arm burning with cold, black flames. 

Tony cussed and threw two more bursts of energy The Ghost deflected with his sword. More machines were coming, but they would be far too late to help their master now. 

Steve took a step around Tony and The Ghost pivoted counterclockwise to Steve’s clockwise. It barely took anything to slice through Tony’s neck, opening a carotid artery with the tip of his sword before Steve could do more than yell. 

“Oh gods above,” Steve gasped as Tony crumpled in a growing pool of blood. ”Bucky, please, listen to me, before it’s too late you have to — “ His body jerked as The Ghost slid his sword straight through his chest, ” — ...B..Bucky?” 

The Ghost stared as Steve reached out with trembling hands, trying and failing to span the length of the sword towards The Ghost’s face. He was gasping at the end of the sword, blood bubbling up to stain his paled lips. 

A sad, soft smile quivered onto his stained lips as Steve’s hands fell, “‘m...sorry.” Steve mumbled, barely above a whisper.

The Ghost withdrew his sword and let the body fall to join Tony’s while tears tracked through the blood splatter on his cheeks.

  
  
  



	15. Chapter 15

  
  


The Ghost blinked, and reality rebounded with a sharp snap that sent Bucky to his backside in the archway of the tower’s exit. 

He heaved, retching at the coppery tang of Steve’s blood still clinging to his nostrils. His hands scrabbled at the ground to get himself on quivering legs. Bucky listened, but only the distant sound of fighting beyond the tower’s base filled the air. No near-by crackle of flame, rending metal, or more importantly, Steve choking on his own blood. 

In fact, he was utterly whole himself, aside from the small wounds he’d carried into the tower with. The brand hurt as much as it normally did, no more, no less. Bucky was himself and the desire to run out into the streets to purge the prior fire died with the realization. 

Rousing himself, he turned to hurry back into the magic mechanized box, planting his palms against the wall as he heaved steadying breaths. The same part of the building he’d seen blown to pieces he was now being pulled up towards. No smoke, but by what divinity he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t have had another flashback, not when this was something  _ new _ . A delusion? He couldn’t dare say.

The box shuddered to a halt and the door slid open while Bucky composed himself.

“Oh, you’re back already.” Tony’s grating voice drew his attention away from his shaking hands only for the air to stall in his lungs. There crumpled on the floor, Steve lay at Tony’s feet. 

Bucky knocked Tony back against one of his piles of junk as he rushed to Steve’s side, knees thumping to the unforgiving floor without care. Now that he was closer he could clearly see the gentle rise and fall of Steve’s chest and, while he was pale, his skin still held a touch of pink.

“What— “ Bucky’s panic died on his lips as a gleam of red flickered in his periphery. He turned, seeing Tony roll the red gem that had once taken residence on Steve’s forehead in his hand. 

“Reality is how you perceive it,” Tony shrugged and the gem disappeared into his hand. Whistling low, Tony continued, ”Oh that was good. Write that down.” Seeing that Bucky was just going to remain on the floor cradling Steve’s unconscious body, Tony rolled his eyes.

“What? It got the desired effect, right? I’ll have you know that’s not exactly easy, even with the gem. I created a whole reality for you to learn a lesson from and this is the thanks I get?” Tony gestured grandly, ever the showman. Bucky’s frown deepened.

“You’re absolutely no fun. Well, hold onto your ass, broody, things are about to get interesting.” Two seconds after Tony swaggered by them the concussive booms of rapid, small explosions vibrated the very foundation. 

Tony gestured vaguely with one hand and a panel slid open, revealing a wide glass window pane that had been safely sandwiched between two rotating sheets of metal.

Bucky lifted Steve into his arms like he’d done a number of times before, cautiously approaching the window, less Tony decide they were more entertaining than what was going on outside. 

The city was still worn and damaged, but Bucky could see the fleeing dots of Hydra’s army scuttling out of the city gates, limping back to their Masters. Bucky hoped all the smoke coming outside the city gate was from Tony’s forces attacking on both fronts, the magic-users and the abominations they crafted. 

The metal soldiers lumbered through the streets picking off strays, their bodies dully glowing. Every so often their heats flared bright and a blast of white energy pulsed to incinerate their target, rumbling the ground around them. 

“Magnificent, right? Damn, I’m amazing.” Tony was smiling like a child during Midsummer Festival. 

“What happened?” Bucky asked, too exhausted to keep up the death glare. 

“Your petite paramour there handed back the gem. I know it was for the ‘good of all’ and all that bullshit, but damn I’m glad to have it back.” Tony was grinning like a loon, but Bucky thought that was at least an improvement to the condescending smirk he’d possessed before. 

He wasn’t going to touch the ‘paramour’ comment, as he had no idea what that word had to do in this context. 

Nodding slowly, Bucky held Steve a little tighter, despite the ache. ”Then why did the Sages give them up to start with? I never saw Steve use his power like this.”

Tony shrugged, backing from the window. ”Walk with me. Got things to do.” Once he was sure Bucky was following, he went on. ”Not all the stones pack the offensive punch. They make up all of magic, and together they’re the ultimate edge, and in someone so-called ‘picked by the gods’? Theoretically, unstoppable.”

“Theoretically?” Bucky leaned against the back of the transport box, resting his aching head back against the wall. Steve snuffled quietly in his arms, turning his face against Bucky’s blood-smeared shirt.

“Ugh, look at him, like a puppy.” Tony smirked, “The kings, queens, and consulates of ‘Shield’ didn’t really think anyone would or  _ could _ refuse to use the power. Who wouldn’t want to be all-powerful, you know? So they stuck him in the cave, and faith, was that thing spelled to All and back. Combined with the natural properties of the Sight, it was a good way to bind Steve into doing exactly what they wanted him to do. Amplify his natural abilities as a Seer, and deal with threats accordingly. Worked great for a while, but who knew Blondey was casting his net wide.” Tony made to reach out and ruffle Steve’s hair but Bucky moodily turned his shoulder to shield him from the touch. Tony rolled his eyes again.

“And why didn’t he go nuts after getting out? Beats me. You’d have to ask him that.” Tony stepped out of the transport box and gestured, the front door once more revealed to lead them out into the charred city.

For the scale of the attack, the buildings were more or less intact. All around the streets the metal soldiers’ limbs clanked against stone, already stacking large chunks of rubble off to the side or scooting bodies into more manageable piles. 

There was one thing, however, that Bucky noticed. ”Where are all the bodies of the citizens?”

At that, Tony’s lips pulled into a Cheshire smile. ”Golden question there, Strawman, and just another reason why I, Tony Stark, and a genius.” He puffed up like a peacock and motioned towards one of the large statues situated in one of the round thoroughfares throughout the city. ”There are doors in those that lead down to bunkers, stocked with a week’s worth of supplies. There’s a city under my city, and almost everyone got there in time, if my eye’s in the sky are to be believed.” His smile waned slightly, looking out over the damage. Black blood slicked the pavement, and every so often red added to the pools. 

“I couldn’t think of a safe way to get everyone down faster.” Tony mumbled, tugging an oil-slicked hand back through his chaotic hair. 

Bucky held Steve close, looking at the eccentric leader framed in distant smoke. Perhaps Stark wasn’t a man he could easily stand, but he did see compassion in those eyes. More than he had himself. He had only recently learned to care for Steve, and barely himself. To worry about an entire city, Bucky didn’t think he had that in him. Be that his natural character or what Hydra made him, he didn’t know. 

Tony roused from his momentary lapse into thoughtful silence and clapped Bucky on the shoulder, ”Count the victories where you can, right?” His smile cracked around the edges, ”Do me a favor and get this guy put up in the tower, will you? Someone, damn on that thought — “ Tony dipped into his pocket to take out a square of metal. A quick pulse of the magic threaded through the man had the square shuddering to life with the same glowing energy. It blossomed into a small hummingbird, head cocking in a grating shift of metal.

Tony leaned in to mutter, “Hey Pep, we got visitors, do your magic?” Grimacing, Tony added hastily, ”Love you, you’re the light of my life,” before flinging the messenger-construct into the sky. 

Bucky watched it go, nursing the ever-growing hollowness. ”Is that really all I am?” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but he was just so tired. 

There was a moment when Tony didn’t answer, eyes turned to the fluttering construct disappearing into the tower’s open door. “Not  _ all _ . I mean, you’re not just like them — “ Tony waved his hand towards his metal soldiers, ”You  _ do _ have a soul. It’s just somewhere you’re not, and that’s not exactly your body, probably? Hydra has some fucked, but interesting, magical theory. There’s no telling what they did.” Tony considered, brow quirking. ”I could probably figure it out, but you know, city to oversee, and I think you have your hands full. ” They looked at Steve who grumbled in his sleep, nose scrunching at the acrid stink of the battle’s remains. 

Rolling his eyes, Bucky fixed Tony with a level stare. ”Is now really the time for puns?”

Tony laughed, shrugging helplessly. ”Always time for puns.” 

Taking a deep breath, Tony stepped away. ”Go back to the tower, Pepper will take care of the swooning princess there, and for All’s sake, take a bath before you sit on anything.” 

Pepper, as it turned out, was the delightful opposite of Tony. The woman exuded competence in a way that was frankly intimidating, appearing from the tower a few moments after Tony had scurried away to ‘attend to business’. 

She took one look at Bucky holding Steve, nodded, and guided them inside. Within short order Bucky was standing in front of a hearth, freshly bathed, in clean clothing, and waiting on food to arrive. Steve had woken up halfway through Bucky’s bath, his slow, tired shuffling easily heard by Bucky’s sharp hearing — inhuman hearing, apparently. 

Steve disappeared into the washroom after him, still shut up in there by the time an attendant brought an alarming amount of food for two people. 

Bucky sat at the table, loosely wrapping his hands around a goblet of warmed cider that didn’t quite chase away the lingering stench of the Hydra soldier’s blood from his nose. The door opened and Steve reappeared, long hair hanging wet around his shoulders dampening his new clothing. 

Steve halted, staring at him with a hesitance Bucky hadn’t seen before, even when he’d actively tried to kill Steve multiple times. ”Bucky, I’m — “

Bucky shook his head. ”Steve, it’s…” He couldn’t say any of this was alright, but he was processing. ”Come here, your hair is dripping.” Wordlessly, Steve complied and Bucky stood, guiding Steve to sit down. His fingers combed down through the wet strands as he’d done so many times before since Steve had bullied him into doing his hair in Bruce’s cabin.

A tiny shiver danced along Steve’s spine as Bucky’s fingertips scraped gently against his scalp, ”I hadn’t realized how much getting the red gem would tire me,” He spoke reluctantly as if he couldn’t stand the idea of admitting weakness even when it hung on him like a heavy cloak.

“We’ll have to wait for a new vision, perhaps it’s time you rest.” There was only one gem remaining, lonely sunset sapphire so bright against Steve’s pale skin, a breath away from his right temple. Steve had said every stone had a corresponding element of life they harnessed. Now, the only left was the orange gem.

To his surprise, Steve nodded, albeit slowly. ”Yes, perhaps.” 

After braiding Steve’s hair they sat for their meal, bolstering their bodies and minds with rich food and hot cider. If not for the lingering vision of Steve bleeding out on his sword or the lingering revelation that he was a soulless husk, it would have almost been nice. But like so many things in life ‘almost’ didn’t account for much.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Reality stone soap made by chaosmanor. Made with a saponified olive oil, coconut oil, cacao butter,  
> shea butter and castor oil to give moisturising suds. Fragrance is a blend of patchouli, plumeria and sweet  
> orange essential oils and fragrance oils.


	16. Chapter 16

  
  


Laying in the plush bed didn’t feel like the comfort Bucky had hoped it would. The soft mattress dipped as Steve climbed under the sheets, settling next to him with a quiet sigh. Normally, Steve would shimmy as close as possible to steal his body heat, but not tonight. Steve stayed still as if he was waiting. 

The fire cracked and the muffled sound of the cleanup going on outside was soothing in that it made him aware of where he was. The vision clung to the edges of his periphery reminding him of the thrill. Of how _right_ it had felt to give in to the spell that had made him. 

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice gently coaxed him from staring blankly at the ceiling. “Talk to me.”

He swallowed thickly, fingers twisting up in the silken sheets. How could he possibly put it all into words? 

The tender hand slipping down his scarred arm and down to his wrist pulled, ”I’m not even a _person_ ,” in a choked gasp from him. 

Before Steve could answer Bucky continued, letting it pour out in a flood, ”They took _everything_ from me. My home, my family, my body, _my soul_. This isn’t even me, is it? I don’t… I don't remember what I looked like, Steve. Just this — “ He thumped his free hand against his chest, tears beginning to slip freely.” — I’m...I'm no different than those things in the streets. I bleed red, but it might as well be black. I…”

Steve gently shushed him, sliding closer until his small body pressed flush against his side. ”You are,” He insisted with a voice deeper and more resonant than anything that should have fit in his delicate body, ”You’re _Bucky_. You’re everything that ever made you, you. And this body? It’s yours in all the ways that count.” 

Steve sat up enough on his elbow to look down at him, reaching for his tear-wet face. Bucky tried to duck away, ashamed that he was once again crying about things he couldn’t change. Steve chased him with his hand, turning his face back with a warm palm against his cheek. 

“You are different than how you used to be, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t _you_. Not any more than I’m not me. We’re not pawns, James Buchanan Barnes, we are not a means to an end. We will be free, Bucky. I swear it.” Steve’s voice fell into a fierce whisper. His eyes were nearly luminescent in the darkness of the room, wispy strands of his hair falling to tickle against Bucky’s neck and shoulder. 

There had been moments in these long months where Bucky had looked at Steve and wondered how he kept going. They were similar despite being on opposite sides, both taken too young and made into something they never wished for in their wildest dreams. The methodology and the outcome were as different as could be, but they were still here. Fighting for the right to be free.  
  
Bucky turned into the touch, trying to soak in Steve’s resolve. “You heard what Tony said,” He whispered, ”This is what I am...who knows where my soul is.”

Huffing, Steve doubled down. ”Then we will find it. I promised you in the cave, promised I would help you if you helped me. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. I _want_ to see this through.”

He didn’t know what he ever could have done to deserve a man like Steve Rogers being by his side. In the beginning, he had only thought of himself as a bodyguard, Steve’s shadow, but somewhere along the way he found a kinship in Steve. One he didn’t want to give up so easily by giving in. As much as it terrified him that he was a danger to Steve and anyone around him, he was too selfish to let it go just yet.

“Steve..” Steve’s fingers twitched against his cheek, thumbing gently over the swell of his cheekbone. Bucky reveled in the touch, unable to take his eyes away.

Steve’s jaw twitched, his eyes tracking down lower. There wasn’t time to question it, even as he was parting his lips to ask, Steve was leaning in until he’d sealed their lips together in a determined kiss. 

Bucky froze, staring wide-eyed at the face hovering above him as the warmth of Steve’s lips diffused into his own. Steve drew back a hair’s breadth from the kiss, a tremulous breath shared between their lips. Bucky swallowed, the slow-creeping heat spread through his body, heating depths of him he hadn’t known existed. 

And yet, Steve flinched away and sat up, cheeks as bright as a summer’s strawberry. ”Bucky, I’m — I’m so sorry, I should… I’m going to — “ He stammered, hurrying to throw the blanket aside and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Bucky’s hand darted to loosely loop around Steve’s wrist as Steve had done so many times before to him. “Steve,” He whispered, squeezing ever so slightly to feel the frantic pulse thrumming underneath Steve’s skin. “Stay.”

A rush of air left Steve and he turned, planting his knees into the mattress and flinging himself against Bucky. This time, Bucky was quick to gather him up in his arms, holding Steve against him in a way he never dreamed he ever could.

Steve kissed him once more, fingers diving into the loose tangle of Bucky’s post-shower hair. Bucky did his best to reciprocate without fumbling. He knew all the mechanics, but just like dancing, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do anything until he tried. But he wanted. Wanted the simmering heat bubbling against his ribcage, pulsing through his veins. 

A warm, wet tongue licked against his lips. Gasping quietly, Bucky parted his lips, shivering as their tongues met in a sensual twine. He groaned, a shameless sound that brought redness to his face to rival Steve’s own. 

His hands twitched against Steve’s back, unsure of where to go and what to do. His timid touch crept along a body he’d seen in all forms of undress but never in a context that made him feel so unexpectedly adrift. Steve’s smooth skin was so unlike his own, not marred with scars or rough from travel despite their journey. Soft as silk with a body as angular as a bird’s. 

“You can touch me,” Steve whispered against his lips, cradling his head in broad hands. ”If you want...Bucky I — I want to show you how real you are. Will you let me? I haven’t much experience, only that my boyhood spent at the Academy, but if you will let me, I want this. I want _you_.”

The words skittered down Bucky’s spine setting his nerve endings alight. He was hyper-conscious of Steve’s weight on him, every bit of skin touching, and how he wanted more still. 

Steve, for some unfathomable reason, saw worth in him. Worth enough to care for him beyond a human shield. Steve had been nothing but kind to him, even despite knowing what he was the entire time. Steve treated him like a _person_.

So Bucky nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The quiet sniffle was bad enough. A master assassin of Hydra and here he was, crying on silken sheets. But Steve only smiled at him and leaned down to brush his eyelids with featherlight kisses. The press of lips trailed, peppering his cheeks and down further still, gentle slides against his jawline that had him sucking in a shocked breath at how strangely wonderful it was. 

Remembering the permission, if not order, Steve had given him, Bucky’s hands slid from his back to his slender waist, gently squeezing to feel the barely-there give. Steve nestled his mouth against his neck, forcing him to crane slightly to the left and _oh_. Steve licked and sucked, worrying the skin enough to make his presence known but not enough to be uncomfortable. Bucky groaned unbidden, holding onto Steve a little tighter still. 

The pleasant tingle that had taken residence in his core drifted lower the more Steve laid claim to his neck. Largely, outside of waking some mornings, his body stayed in a constant state. Very little happened with his person that Bucky didn’t will, or at least, that’s how it had worked before. But the more Steve ‘woke’ him, the more his flesh and blood surprised him. 

He could feel the stirring below, the twitch of interest as Steve’s hot breath ghosted his saliva-damp skin. He’d never been inclined to worry about it before, and yet now he had a vague hope that something would be done about it. Hoped that it felt as good as people claimed. 

The attention to his groin disintegrated the moment Steve rolled his slender hips against him. “ _Steve_ ,” He breathed, mildly embarrassed he hadn’t been able to keep that in his head as he’d wanted.

Steve’s mouth paused, leaning up enough to look down at him, enraptured, lips spit-slick and red. He must look the same, except the rose on his cheeks had to far outweigh Steve’s. ”Should I stop?”

The notion was frankly offensive, ”No, fuck, I just… this isn’t like dancing, I don’t think?” Seeing Steve’s brows pinching in confusion, he admitted, ”I don’t know what I’m doing, if I’ve done anything like this before.”

Steve hummed, bobbing his head. ”But do you like it?”

Bucky snorted, “Despite the tears I am fully capable of throwing you across the room with one arm.”

Steve laughed, a scrunchy-faced thing that was too loud to be right above him, but one that drew Bucky up to capture Steve’s face in a kiss of his own. Their mouths knocked together, not the seamless ease Steve had managed, but no less sweet. 

Hands gripped at his shoulders, fingertips digging shallowly as Steve dove his tongue into his mouth, coaxing his lips wider still. 

Bucky couldn’t keep still, a sudden all-encompassing need to do _something_ spurring his hands to rove along Steve’s perched body, mapping out all he could reach. The jut of his shoulders, the bumpy planes of his ribcage, the press of his spine, right down to the sharpness of his hip bones veiled in thin sleep clothing.

Steve’s lungs betrayed them first and he sat up with a ragged gasp, staring down at Bucky with pupils blown wide. “Hold on,” Biting his lip, Steve shimmied away, kneeling against the mattress and hooking his thumbs into the band of his nightclothes. With a glance that was more coy than shy, Steve inched them down, revealing the swath of smooth skin Bucky had seen in passing before but had no reason to linger. Now all Bucky could do was stare.

The little thatch of dark blonde hair nestled at the base of Steve’s half-hard cock drew his eyes, wishing he was bold enough to reach out and touch, just to feel the coarseness juxtaposed against Steve’s cream skin. Everything about Steve was beautiful to him, but it seemed decidedly unfair that even such a private area could look so inviting.

Swallowing his nerves, Bucky felt like he should follow suit. It wasn’t nearly as alluring of a display but he made quick work of tugging his nightclothes away. The quiet gasp was gratifying enough Bucky decided he shouldn’t feel so reserved. It was Steve, after all. They had been through so much together that this shouldn’t feel so terrifying. Steve wouldn’t lead him astray, even if his head was full of secrets.

Steve advanced, fingers splaying over the planes of Bucky’s toned stomach. ”If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, you tell me.” He ordered, right before his hands advanced on the swells of his muscular pecs.

Bucky’s quiet, ”Alri — “ cut off into a low moan as Steve’s fingertips brushed against the peaks of his nipples.

Seemingly satisfied, Steve bent, licking just under his right bud. Not wanting to completely flounder, Bucky returned his hand to Steve’s hip, though after a moment’s hesitation he advanced on the pert swell of Steve’s ass. Apparently it was the right thing to do and Steve shivered and latched onto Bucky’s nipple in quiet retaliation. 

Bucky squeezed the soft mound while hissing out a shocked breath. Shamelessly, he pushed his chest up against the kitten-licks, toes curling. He’d never known his body to be sensitive, too trained against pain and discomfort as it was, but he was lost to pleasure now. The tender touch of Steve’s caress was an easy foil to Hydra’s cruelty. 

Steve didn’t stop worrying at his chest until both sides were tender and singing, even having the nerve to huff quiet laughter against his stomach. “Just wait,” He murmured, stroking up and down his sides. 

Steve renewed his wandering pat, advancing lower and lower until Bucky was sure he would spontaneously combust. Pausing right over his groin, Steve huffed a quivering breath against his thigh. ”Try not to squirm, you are far more..robust..than my boyhood experiences.” Steve didn’t give him time to think too hard on that, not when there was a warm, soft hand wrapping around Bucky’s arched arousal.

All thought and reason vacated his body. Bucky curled his hands deeper into the sheets to keep from trying to paw at Steve as he watched plump pink lips lower closer to the tip of his prick. When Steve’s lips finally connected, Bucky’s head flopped back against the bed with a quiet whimper.

Steve didn’t have to worry about him being rough, not when the feather-soft licks and kisses against his erection had Bucky melting into the sheets. All he could do was stare up at the ceiling and let the sensations crash over him with every touch. 

The first few inches disappeared into Steve’s mouth moments later, robbing the breath from his lungs. The molten pleasure that had taken root in his gut was climbing, roaring in his ears even though he knew they really only just began. He couldn’t fault himself for it, not when he’d been so gravely ill-prepared. 

“ _Steve_ ,” he groaned, reaching blindly out. Somehow Steve caught his desperation, reaching with the hand not currently squeezing gently at Bucky’s cock to clasp their hands together. Bucky could breathe a little better after that, forcing lungfuls of air out like bellows. 

Mustering the will to move even just a scant inch was a challenge but the reward was great indeed. He looked down the length of his body to watch Steve bob over his cock, pale cheeks flushed and eyes hooded. 

“I’m...fuck, _Steve_.” He couldn’t form words enough to warn of the impending euphoria. 

But to his shock and utter delight, Steve’s eyes flicked up at him with mischief dancing within, and he sank down another inch, his hand and mouth covering the length of Bucky entirely. 

He spilled with a soundless cry, oh-so careful not to grasp Steve’s hand too tight while his other shredded into the expensive sheets. Everything whited out for a breathless moment, suspending him outside his body while at the same time making him feel more present than he ever had.

Seconds or an eternity later he blinked hard with a shuddering gasp, forcing his hand to stop clinging to Steve for dear life. Steve chuckled softly below, rubbing soothing circles against Bucky’s hip. 

And All, did Steve look a vision pulling up from his softening cock, licking his lips to clear the seed that had dribbled past his lips. He didn’t go far, momentarily resting his face against Bucky’s thigh and looking up at him with a gaze Bucky did’t think he’d ever deserve.

“Good?” Steve asked, voice husky but pleased.

Bucky laughed breathlessly, reaching down to push his fingers reverently through Steve’s messy bangs.”I thought you’d kill me.”

“That would be some way to do it,” Steve snickered, turning into the touch to press a wet kiss against Bucky’s wrist. “But I’m glad I could make it good for you, it’d been so long.” It made Bucky ache for him. He had no memories of knowing such touch or intimacy, but what had it been like for Steve? Steve remembered everything of the life taken from him, of his training and imprisonment, some pieces forgotten by a youthful mind, yes, but everything important to him was there. Lost to the cave and silver chains. 

As wonderful as having Steve’s attention was, Bucky wanted to provide the same. ”Then tell me how to please you too,” Besides feeling cared for, he wanted to know if he was capable of the same. Of being the one to be soft and attentive.

Surprise bloomed on Steve’s face and he crawled up until he was beside Bucky once more on the bed. ”You don’t have to,” Considering Steve was still hard and flushed between his legs, Bucky didn’t exactly think it was a hardship, why would he stop now?

Determined, he rolled over, caging Steve in against the bed by bracketing the smaller body with his own far larger. ”I _want_ to.” And to his satisfaction, Steve’s face softened. “Just tell me how.” 

Steve tugged him down for another kiss, the faintly bitter tang of Bucky’s release slick on his kiss-swollen lips. “Do what feels right, just no teeth.” He teased, relaxing back down, nearly luminescent in the firelight. 

Bucky wasn’t going to mention that ‘doing what felt right’ more often than not ended with blood. Somehow he didn’t think Steve would enjoy the reminder. Instead, he focussed on the body beneath him, miles of bare skin and possibility. 

He didn’t know where to begin so he began where Steve had, leaning down to press his lips momentarily to Steve’s narrow chest. Steve’s nipples were small and dusky pink against his skin, pebbling from the light attention. He hadn’t intended to seal his lips over one so soon but the visual drew him in until his tongue was flicking against the pert bud captured between his lips. 

Steve sighed sweetly, hands returning to making a mess of Bucky’s hair, holding his head steady against his chest. Each time Bucky suckled gently between the left and right Steve’s body twitched. Only the desire to hear more, _see_ more, had Bucky pulling back to appreciate how red and swollen Steve’s nipples were after he was done. ‘Doing what felt right’ had never left him so satisfied.

He wanted to kiss and taste Steve all over, so that was exactly what he did. Mapping the ridges of Steve’s rib cage, the dip of his shoulders, the hollow of his navel, and back up to lay claim to Steve’s neck. All the while Steve’s hands never left him, tugging at his hair or briefly pawing at his shoulders. 

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve whined quietly, leaning his hips up enough to let his painfully hard erection brush against Bucky’s hip. ”Please, please it’s been so long.” He begged, and like usual, Bucky would never deny him.

Sliding down the bed, Bucky nestled himself between Steve’s legs and looked at the nearly hairless hang of Steve’s sack and the inviting jut of his pinked cock. Above him Steve began, ”If it is too much you can take me in han — _oh All_.” Steve cussed the moment Bucky nestled his lips against the soft skin at the base of his penis.

Steve smelled of sweet herbs from the bath and tasted of almond oil. From the first hesitant lick, Bucky decided he never wanted to stop.

There was no finesse here, he wasn’t nearly as sensual as Steve was, could never be, but that didn’t stop him from trying to please Steve as much as Steve had done for him. By the low sounds Steve hummed above him Bucky was going to assume he was doing something right.

He flattened his tongue against one of Steve’s firm balls, gratified as Steve’s whole body jerked against the bed. Inch by inch he lathed Steve with attention until he’d tasted all that their position would allow of Steve’s nethers. He would have to remember to ask Steve where else was desirable for mouths to go, because he had ideas now. 

He forgot to give Steve any warning before he widened his lips and sank down on Steve’s prick, surprised at how soft yet rigid it was against his tongue. Steve’s dewy tip slid against the roof of his mouth, diffusing the taste of Steve into his senses. A hard pang of arousal flooded back into his veins but he ignored it, too focussed on Steve now to care. 

Steve had needed to use his hand in conjunction with his mouth but Bucky thought he could get away with just his mouth. Steve’s length wasn’t slight by any means but Bucky was confident he could take him in. If there was one upside to Hydra’s training it was the ability to relax into discomfort, including his own gag reflex. 

For all of Steve’s warning for Bucky to be still he made no effort himself. Steve’s hips rolled lazily, pushing his cock deeper into Bucky’s mouth. The little huffs of pleasure from Steve were more than enough for Bucky to let it go, satisfied to tease him later. It wasn’t uncomfortable, so Bucky didn’t mind, if anything, he loved feeling Steve slide in and out of his mouth considering he was floundering blindly. 

Suction, that’s right, Steve had done that so Bucky would as well. He shifted a little closer so Steve could keep wiggling his hips while he hollowed his cheeks and mimicked what Steve had done minutes ago. 

Steve’s fingers spasmed against his scalp and he did it again, sucking as much as he could with Steve’s pace picking up in urgency. It sounded obscene in the quiet of the room, messy and undignified in ways that made Bucky’s blood surge through his veins.

“Bucky...Buck, Oh, _oh_ fuck, I’m going to — “ Steve wasn’t quiet when he came, body snapping taut against the bed with a hard cry. Warmth flooded Bucky’s mouth, the bitter-tang of Steve’s peak saturating his tongue every time Steve’s rigid length pulsed. 

He swallowed, licking at Steve’s softening erection until the hands in his hair tugged him away and up to the pillows once more. Steve pulled him close until they were a tangle of limbs, cradled together uncaring of sweat melding between their chests. 

It was laying there holding Steve as the fire burned low that Bucky knew he wouldn’t let Hydra take this away from him. Hydra had made him, forced him to do their bidding, and spill blood deep enough to drown in. Steve, however, had freed him. Freed him as much as possible without unraveling the very magical fibers that held him together. 

But with that freedom came the desire, no, the _need_ to choose. 

“I never want to be Hydra’s puppet again.” He whispered into the tangle of Steve’s soft hair.

Steve yawned, hooking his leg tighter over Bucky’s thigh. ”I know.” He hummed.

“No, Steve...I mean...I refuse to be.” Bucky sighed, holding Steve tighter. ”If the choice is living in fear that Hydra will always find a way to bring me back, to take away all that I am again, or to choose to refuse them the option, then I want the spell to be fully broken and my soul released.” 

Steve stilled in his arms, breath lodged in his chest. For a moment Bucky was sure Steve would argue, that those weren’t the only options even though Bucky saw no more. Right when Bucky readied a rebuttal, Steve pressed his head against Bucky’s sternum, sniffled, and nodded.


	17. Chapter 17

The handful of days he was able to spend with Steve following the siege were the closest thing to bliss that he’d ever had, even that over the Aviary. The city was rallying in the streets alongside smaller metal constructs to help repair the damage. Pepper spoke of a battle at the border where Tony had sent the bulk of his metal army but even that felt distant. For now. 

Steve whispered soft words against his skin in the night, his touch gentle and sure. In the light of day, Bucky wandered behind Steve who explored Tony’s veritable museum of odds and ends that ranged from complete junk to magical artifacts dating from the Mother’s first blessed embrace that breathed life into a lifeless rock(or so Pepper explained). 

But like all dreams, it had to end far sooner than he ever wanted. It happened on the fourth day, Steve stretched out on an overstuffed lounge for a midday nap after a hefty late breakfast. Bucky thumbed through a book only paying half a mind to it, giving in to the temptation far too often to let his eyes trail to Steve and watch the sunlight warm his fair skin. 

It was during one of those lingering glances that Steve’s face scrunched, the whisper of power that had dulled with each gem’s removal glowing faintly against his eyelids. Bucky knew better than to wake Steve in a vision but the longer Steve stayed in the dream the more he writhed, a low whimper building in his throat. About the time Bucky resigned himself to possibly ruining Steve’s vision and waking him, Steve sat upright with a sharp cry.

“ _ Nononono _ ,” Steve thrashed the blanket off him and Bucky was there the next moment to wrap him up in his arms. ”Bucky, oh gods above,  _ Bucky _ ,” Steve heaved then broke down into sobs, fingers digging into the fabric of Bucky’s shirt so tight it started to tear. 

“I’m here,” Bucky whispered into Steve’s golden hair, repeating the same words Steve had said to bring him back from Hydra’s stain on his mind. 

Minutes ticked by and Steve gradually calmed, snuffling against his neck until he was composed enough to pull back. “Oh Bucky, it’s...it’s worse than I ever imagined.” His red-rimmed eyes burned with despair but there was an apology laced within, one Bucky couldn’t make sense of until Steve went on, ”The next Sage is in Hydra. In the Cathedral.” 

The mere mention made Bucky’s blood run cold. His first memories recovered from Steve’s careful exploration into his mind were that of the Cathedral. Waking to pitch water filled with screams and clawing hands and a man standing in front of him, face covered by a mask as dark as arterial blood. The memory had come to him in a night weeks past, so vivid and real Steve had slapped him hard across the cheek to rouse him from their shadows. 

Steve’s grip gentled and he tucked his body as close as possible, “In a cave system with dark crystal walls and — “

“ — water.” Bucky finished, cradling Steve to him to stave off the sudden cold that bit his skin. “I know where it is.” 

“Bucky, I can’t ask you to do this,” Even expecting it the offered ‘out’ stung.

Reluctantly pulling back, Bucky fixed Steve with a grave look he hoped would quell Steve better than it usually did. ”You don’t have to ask, Steve. I’m going with you whether you ask me or not. This is my fight too. ” He still didn’t think he believed in the All, the web of Gods and worlds that made up existence, however, he couldn’t deny that he felt as if he was supposed to be at Steve’s side until the very end.

Despite his watery eyes, Steve cracked a small smile. ”Stubborn,” As if that wasn’t a crowning example of the pot calling the kettle black. 

They stayed like that until the afternoon sun cast an orange glow over the city when Steve sighed and said, ”Why would a Sage be in the heart of Hydra?”

“I suppose everyone can be corrupted. It’s what Hydra does. They take everything and taint it, twist it, to bend it to their will.” Bucky pressed their foreheads together, lingering a few selfish moments before forcing them both to their feet. They would need to prepare to leave in the morning, and Tony would no doubt have a few things to say about where they were headed. Perhaps he could even provide some insight into why the Sage of Souls was in Hydra. 

“Not a damn clue,” Tony shrugged and tossed a metal cog over his shoulder, wrist-dip in one of his many work desks. “See, the funny thing about us Sages is, we’re ensorcelled to the Pits and back. You didn’t remember anyone of us, did you?” he paused to glance over his shoulder.

Steve hummed, ”Only Sam.”

“Yeah see, that’s what I’m — Only  _ Sam _ ?” Tony huffed, his full attention for once on the pair standing in the middle of all his chaos. ”That is...dammit, why is he shielded from me and not you? This is unfair treatment,” Bucky didn’t know what Tony was going on about but that was usually the norm.

“Okay,  _ normally _ you’re not supposed to remember a lot about us because, power, responsibility, gifted wisdom beyond the Realms, blah blah. It’s to protect everyone, you see? We were all supposed to control one of the elements of the All and keep things in balance unless instructed otherwise. Then here comes you, gift from the gods, and all the kingdoms saying ‘hey, beef this kid up’. Seemed like the stars aligned and it was providence, right? Well, half of us said ‘Yeah, I guess’ and the other half? Not so much. But the kingdoms’ case was a good one, so we said what the hell. After everything was said and done we fucked off back to our respective jobs and kind of forgot about the whole thing. Were we really Sages without the things we were supposed to be guarding? Debatable.” Bucky was glad Steve was nodding and looking as if he understood because Bucky was as confused as ever. The nature of magic, the All, and divine guidance was beyond him. 

“So you’re shielded even from yourselves?” Steve asked, looking as if he was going to touch a clear crystal sat haphazardly at the end of tony’s table before thinking better of it.

“We’re supposed to be, but Bruce is nice to chat with sometimes. ” Tony shrugged.

Bucky frowned, gently pulling Steve away from a pile of metal scraps that swayed precariously, “But we remember you all now.”

Going back to his search, Tony snorted, ”Yeah, well, that’s a question, isn’t it?” He chortled as if that was supposed to answer anything. Bucky was getting damn tired of all the cryptic answers out of people supposedly ‘touched by the gods’.

“Ha! Found them! Knew I kept them around here somewhere.” Tony sent half the table crashing to the floor as he brandished a sword and gauntlet from the bottom of the pile.

The sword was in no short words, beautiful. Despite being in Tony’s junk for gods knows how long it shined as if it had just been polished, thin dark metal the width of three fingers. Runic spell work had been meticulously carved along its edges, hilt, and pommel, tiny scrawling script that shined red if caught in the right light.

The gauntlet was supple leather, hard enough to provide some protection but pliable enough to not be restrictive. It was a stunning piece dyed deep blue with a silver channeling disk anchored to the back of the hand. 

Both objects were eye-catching but they didn’t answer any of their questions. Why Tony had called them up here and talked their ears off when they should be getting on the road if he didn’t have any answers about the remaining Sage.

Tony held the two weapons aloft, looking at them expectantly. ”Well?”

Bucky glanced at Steve who shrugged as confused as he was.

Huffing, Tony shoved the gauntlet in Steve’s hands then thrust (hilt first, thank All) the sword into Bucky’s. “To whip Hydra’s backsides with! My father crafted that gauntlet himself. Push some Will into it, see what happens.”

With another glance in Bucky’s direction Steve took a deep breath, focussed, and the next second the channeling disk glowed bright, and a shield of radiant energy pulsed from the gauntlet. The opaque shield covered Steve from neck to knee, humming with the thread of Steve’s magic. 

“See? As long as you got juice, so does this thing. Would take a battering ram and then some to break it. To turn it off just cut the thread.” Tony explained and Steve did just that and the gauntlet went back to being an inert decoration.

Tony swiveled in Bucky’s direction, “As for the sword, honestly that was a crapshoot. It’s a picky thing, could have hurt you if it didn’t accept you but look! You’re fine.” He grinned as if that wasn’t exceedingly alarming. ”Not a sharper sword out there, which reminds me,” Tony dove back into the mess to extract an unassuming black scabbard. ”You’ll be wanting this, or else. Take a stab at the floor, I dare you.”

Never one to deny a sword, Bucky grasped the hilt in his hand, quietly marveling at how it molded to his touch. He stabbed down without preamble and Steve gasped as the tip slid effortlessly into the solid stone floor. Eyes wide, Bucky withdrew it, staring down at the neat slit in the floor with no signs of crack or break to both the stone and the sword.

“Shit,” Bucky breathed and carefully sheathed the sword, once again amazed that the seemingly unbreakable sword didn’t punch through the end. 

Tony guffawed, slapping him on the shoulder as he passed. ”Got that right, hopefully, those relics will make tackling Hydra’s brand of insanity easier. If you got one thing going for you, it’s that Hydra is busy trying to subjugate the masses and probably won’t be paying attention to what’s coming  _ in _ . Probably.”

Steve shook his head as Tony led them out, Pepper having already seen to their horse and provisions even if Steve insisted they didn’t need to be doted upon. ”While you’re there and you happen to find your soul laying around, I could probably jam it back in, you know, if you guys make it back alive.”

Shooting him a withering look, Bucky smirked, ”You say ‘probably’ a lot for a so-called genius.”

Hearing Tony Stark laugh in the small confines of his transportation box was an experience Bucky never wanted to have again. Considering they were headed into Hydra territory it was a wish that was more than likely going to be granted.

Every day brought them closer to the border, and every day they grew quieter. The looming haze on the horizon felt as if it was already blanketing them, pushing down on them until only anxiety and resignation reigned.

While the scenery varied only slightly the threads of fell magic tried to push over the border, hungry for more. Two days from crossing the border an owl fell from the sky near them, a writhing, pitiful creature streaked in brackish ooze that slowly ate away at its feathers and flesh. 

Bucky grimaced and bent to end the creature’s suffering with a quick hand, ”Tarpits. They’re used for the necromancer’s testing grounds.” He explained, watching the stinking ooze bubble and froth until only scattered bones and a bit of flesh remained. 

That night was even quieter, spent pressed together seeking comfort that never came. 

The morning they stood at the border, Steve laced his fingers with Bucky’s and squeezed. 

“Whatever happens, don’t let them regain control of me,” Bucky whispered, hoping Steve would understand what he was asking of him. It was unfair to ask it, but if there was anyone to understand why it would be Steve.

Steve breathed deep and sighed,” I won’t.” He promised, tugging at his arm until Bucky leaned down to kiss him. It felt too much like a kiss goodbye.

They stepped into Hydra, grimacing as they left the protective bubble of the Shield Kingdoms.

It would be two weeks to the capitol, two weeks of dodging patrols, making sure Steve wasn’t seen. Except Bucky had a feeling his Master had knew of their arrival the moment he stepped across the border. 

The brand festered, fever-hot and branching dark tendrils that crept down his left arm more day by day. After a week he was forced to keep it still by his side and switch his sword to his right, the pain too overwhelming to properly grip it. None of Steve’s packed remedies or magic worked, nothing could keep Hydra from seeping into his veins the more they walked into its maw.

“So much looks...normal. ” Steve commented as they passed a lake lit briefly by a break in the ashen clouds. A group of elk-like creatures stamped their many hooves by the water, bleating in a territorial squabble. If it wasn’t for the threads of taint balding their fur or glazed eyes they could have been anywhere else. 

But Bucky knew better, “This land was probably like any other in the Kingdoms before Hydra’s rule. Slowly but surely, Hydra is taking over.” Be it a withering tree amongst the green or a fetid bog choked with cast-off corpses, there were signs of Hydra staining the landscape everywhere.

There was a moment days out from the capitol that Bucky was sure would go awry. They nearly stumbled into a camp of vagrants, gaunt people in threadbare clothing clutching knives in grey-tinged fists. One of their emaciated dogs barked in their direction as Bucky nudged Steve into the shadows. The thieves shifted in their sleep until one man sat up enough to kick the poor creature with a, “Shut the fuck up!” spat past nubbed black teeth. 

They hurried, pushing along the copse not daring to stop until exhaustion finally bade Steve to call for camp. 

The day before they would be forced to traverse the maze-like buildings, pits, and rubble that made up the city with the Cathedral at its heart, Steve stared at the horse and announced, ”She needs a name. You only call her ‘horse’.”

Bucky glanced up from doling out their provisions, “Why?”

“Because she’s come with us this entire time! She’s a beautiful steed, Buck. She’s  _ yours _ . She needs a name.” Steve insisted, fixing him with a look that said there would be no escaping this. Once Steve got an idea into his head it was nigh impossible to dissuade him. Thankfully this was pleasantly innocuous, for once. 

Grumbling, Bucky looked at the dark mare grazing a few yards away, an imposing beast probably bred in one of the unforgiving holds within the countryside. She’d started out a loyal but unfriendly beast, however, the longer Steve had been with her the more the horse had taken to having her nose stroked and begging for apples. 

“Dusk,” Bucky decided and went back to unwrapping a wedge of cheese.

Steve’s nose scrunched, “Why Dusk?”

“Because dusk promises a dawn. She was born in this land, but she wasn’t molded by it. Dusk has been a good horse.” Bucky explained, passing off Steve’s meal, missing the weighted smile directed his way.

Steve made sure to coo Dusk’s name repeatedly that day, stroking his fingers through her dark mane and feeding her bits of dried fruit from his lunch. 

The cave in Steve’s vision was accessed not by the Cathedral, but a chamber at the side. It was a small thing in their favor but one Bucky was grateful for. With the bulk of the forces engaged elsewhere getting through the city wasn’t a feat for a Ghost made here. Steve listened well, clinging to his shadows as they picked their way through the dingy city. 

Steve hadn’t been happy about releasing Dusk into the countryside, however, Bucky assured him that she would find them again once they were done. While Steve had relieved himself behind a tree Bucky had taken Dusk’s bridle and pressed his head against hers. ”You find him after all this is done. You find him and don’t stop until you’re away from here. Keep him safe.” He whispered against her face, willing it with everything within him. No doubt Steve would spoil her until she was fat and useless, and he hoped for nothing else.

He knew they were no doubt walking into a trap when he found the passage guarded only by two undead soldiers easily dispatched by his gifted sword. It was all too easy to slip inside, breathe the dank air that smelled of water and rot. 

Steve grabbed a torch from the wall and lit it, illuminating the slick black walls, not unlike a craggy throat. 

Despite the pain of his branded arm Bucky still accepted Steve’s hand as they made their way down into the earth along the spiral tunnel.

He heard it long before they drew near, the low wailing of the dead and the drip of cold water. They walked until the tunnel gave way to a grand cave as large as the Cathedral above. If not for the pervasive  _ wrong _ that squeezed at the chest it could have been beautiful.

It looked as if a massive geode had been cleaved open, boasting shining crystalline walls that sparkled purple, red, and deep pink crystal. Within the clustered gems mist swirled, pushing at the lustrous prison with heaving cries. All around them, the crystals wept, muted and distant but all the more troubling for it. 

It was the lake, however, that drew their eyes. 

The pitch water writhed with the same grey mist threaded through it like ribbons, countless souls stirring around the depths with shrieks louder than those of the walls. 

There at the back of the underground lake resting on an overhanging rock sat a woman softly singing to the souls below. Her fiery red hair hung limply around her pale face, obscuring all but the tips of her petite profile. Her dress was the same inky black as the rock below her, making the long line of her slender leg draped down from her perch all the more accentuated. 

Her singing paused, head tilting up to look at them across the expanse of the lake. Her foot stirred the water, sending ripples across the surface. “Hello again, Steve.”

Steve walked to the water’s edge, “Hello, we’ve come a long way.” Bucky stood beside him trying not to stare at the water that beckoned him closer still. Only Steve’s hand kept him tethered.

A small, apologetic smile curled her blood-red lips. ”I wish you hadn’t come.” She lifted her dangling leg from the water, the clanking chains reverberating around the wall. A tight manacle was cinched so tight around her delicate ankle it was festering, skin broken and bleeding around the black metal.

The water rippled higher despite no longer being disturbed by the Sage’s foot, lapping hard against the edges. 

Bucky had just enough time to take hold of Steve’s shoulder and yank him back before agony ripped through him, tearing an agonized scream from his throat to rival the wailing souls around them.


	18. Chapter 18

~~Steve Pov~~

Steve had heard many terrible sounds in his life, be it the past few months or in dreams of the future, but none were so terrible as Bucky’s. A soul-deep cry of pure agony wrapped in thick despair.

He wobbled back a few steps by Bucky’s hand before he could turn around to see what had harmed Bucky, but it was already too late. Bucky doubled over, clutching at his arm, as a red haze descended upon him. Steve had never been in the presence of magic so dark it physically made him ill until now. 

“So the Oracle of Shield is not so all-seeing as to see this?” A man smirked as he stepped from the shadowed entrance. “Who would have thought, after all this time trying to kill you, all I had to do was wait.” He smirked, rolling a large red cave-crystal in his hand. The mist within it flared bright and Bucky’s scream abruptly died in his throat with a strangled gasp.

The wide-eyed look of panic evaporated in Bucky’s eyes, replaced by the nothingness Steve remembered from the first time he’d been shown Bucky in a vision. But even as the light died, the necromancer frowned. 

“I see you’ve been toying with my pet,” He smirked again, deeper, uglier, and stepped closer, finally near enough for Steve to make out his face. It was one Steve had Seen many times before. An older man with the self-satisfied presence of a person used to getting exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it. Alexander Pierce, the Bishop of Hydra, widely known as the shadow-leader since the Kingdom’s actual king hadn’t been seen outside his residence in decades.

“He’s not your pet or your tool,” Steve spat, reaching into himself to pull from his small pool of magic potential. Before he’d given up the stones he could have called up the souls trapped here to rebound on their so-called Master, but there were too many of them now trapped in layers of wards. 

A rock bounced off his shoulder hard enough to sting as the Sage across the lake shouted, ”Behind you!” giving him time to dive out of the way as a serpent’s tail thudded right where he had been standing.

A writhing mass rose from the waters, long tongues hissed past dagger-length ivory fangs. At first Steve thought it to be a number of great serpents rising from the waters, each body as thick as a tree’s trunk, yet the more it emerged the more tapered the spread of the ‘necks’ became. When it slithered to shore, Steve realized this was Hydra’s namesake. A creature that had supposedly been extinct for a thousand years in the flesh, staring down at him with all six eyes. 

Behind him, Pierce chortled, ”Now that you’ve given up all but one of the gems, I have little use for you alive. The Hydra will harvest your soul, better use.”

Bucky would say that Steve never knew when he was outmatched, never knew when he’d had enough, but he didn’t think Bucky gave him enough credit. Faced with staring down a Hydra, Steve knew better than to try and take it head-on without Bucky’s help. He didn’t want to face the Hydra and Pierce without giving Bucky the chance to break free.

He turned and ran, narrowly avoiding one head darting forward with its arm-length fangs biting at him. It was one after the other, jaws wide enough to swallow him up in a single gulp. Steve couldn’t run forever and he had to start thinking of a way to end this now rather than later. 

Which was where Bucky would be justified calling him reckless, he guessed. 

Long stalactites hung from the ceiling above like yawning fangs, blessedly made of mostly inert crystals. Steve didn’t want any stray souls getting caught in the cross-fire even if realistically he knew that was nigh impossible. He’d try anyway. 

Sparing the tiny moment to peer behind his shoulder to see how far the beast was from him cost him. The serpent’s tail whipped around and caught him hard in the side sending him tumbling ass over shoulders until he came to rest a few feet away from being skewered into the wall. 

At least the rib-cracking blow had given him the distance he needed to arch his hand up at the wall and call up a burst of magic that slammed into the ceiling above. The stalactites shook and for a despairing moment, Steve wasn’t sure they would fall, then one snapped off with a loud crack followed by a handful of others.

The Hydra roared, unable to react fast enough to spare all of its heads the raining daggers. One cleaved through the rightmost head, spearing it with a sickening crunch. From across the cave, Steve heard Pierce growl in outrage, hand still outstretched towards Bucky.

Steve struggled upright, kicking his feet into motion once more. The Hydra shook and writhed until it dislodged the crystalline stalactite from the decimated head, and to Steve’s surprise, the middle head reared over and bit right through the deceased’s neck, leaving the head to drop uselessly to the floor. 

Pierce’s anger gave way to laughter as his deranged face split with a pleased smile, ”Cleave one head and two more shall take its place, Oracle!” Already the stump was bubbling and squirming but Steve could do little to stop it while the Hydra returned to its hunt. 

Only looking at Bucky to make sure he stayed well enough away and spying his sword made Steve remember the leather gauntlet wrapped around his wrist. If he could time it right…

Slowing probably looked suicidal but he had to reserve his strength if this didn’t work. Predictably the creature lunged once more as soon as it was able and Steve lashed out, shield blossoming to life as the Hydra made to swallow him up. 

But he had timed it too early and the creature’s left head slammed into the shield and sent him back to the ground, scraping his back and legs raw as he skidded from the sheer force of the impact. 

Recoiling, the Hydra’s tail tried and failed to pin him as Steve rolled out of the way, leaving smears of blood from the holes in his torn clothing. Getting to his feet was harder this time, the throbbing pain attempting to hobble him. Pain or not, he ran.

To the far right of him, Bucky cried out, blood dribbling down his chin from where he’d bitten his cheek unseen.

It took all the resolve within Steve not to look over, to keep the Hydra’s attention and pray that Bucky would break free before Pierce took over or they were both killed.

Another sweep of the Hydra’s tail clipped his hip and Steve staggered, but this time he was ready. By the time the creature was lunging Steve had planted his feet and swung out. The shield sprang to life once more, neatly cutting the left head in half before it could bite down. The front half still hit Steve hard enough to knock the air from his lungs and send him to his ass once again, yet the Hydra retreated. 

The stink of the sticky black blood against his clothes and skin made Steve gag and frantically shove the chunk of thesevered head from him, the fangs still gleaming too close to his body for comfort. 

He wobbled standing, whole body quivering from the strain and pain of battle. He was so close, if he just pushed a little more he could end this for them both.

The Hydra was rallying, snapping away the next dead head as well, hissing loud enough to buzz the cold, dank air. 

Steve sighed, centered himself, and breathed deep as he reached inside himself, calling up the remaining power within him. If the Gods and the All would hear him now, grant him this one wish, he didn’t care if it severed his connection, if Shield recaptured him. If they would just make sure Bucky was safe. 

In the back of his mind, something whispered _Burn_.

The right stump ballooned out and two more heads sprang forth, writhing with frenzied bloodlust. Steve let the magic in him pour out into a blade of searing heat, singing through the air towards the Hydra’s long necks. To his dismay the blade only sliced through part of Hydra’s body, sending two heads to the floor in a heap while one remained screeching in agony. 

Steve staggered, vision blurring around the edges, even as the Hydra fixed him in its gaze. Its maw parted, rows of jagged teeth and long fangs promising a painful death but there was nothing more he could do. He’d given it his all and it hadn’t been enough. The Gods had chosen him for something and it was then that he realized that perhaps that had just been the ramblings of old teachings and Kingdoms on the brink of war clinging to any hope they could get. 

The Hydra charged and Steve spared one last glance at Bucky, only to find the spot where he’d last seen him empty.

The sickening crunch of the Hydra biting down on flesh and bone tore his eyes back forward the same time Pierce roared, “No you fool!”

Bucky gasped and staggered, left arm lodged in the creature’s maw, blood dripping to the ground in alarming rivulets from the meeting of too-thin armor and teeth.

“Bucky!” Steve tried to step forward and Bucky fixed him with a hard look over his shoulder. The warning expression immediately dissolved, something soft and open in its place.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered, adjusted the grip on the sword in his right hand, and arched it at the Hydra with a great cry.

The gifted sword cleaved through the Hydra’s head with barely any resistance. Runes flashed in a brilliant iridescent shine that rose searing smoke from the split that had nearly cleaved the head in twain. 

The Hydra’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground and Bucky swayed, freeing the barely-attached remains of his left arm from its jaws. Amidst the carnage of the wound, the brand’s hot glow flickered, a candle in a storm.

Pierces’ voice lifted into the shocked stillness, a rolling chant that tried to flare the brand’s dying embers back to life. Bucky looked down at the brand and clenched his fist around his bloodied sword to steady his shaking hand.

“Now, the gem!” Bucky yelled as he turned and charged at Pierce, the red haze of dark magic filling the air. 

Steve wavered. 

_Steven_

The disembodied voice cut through the terror and the gem on his forehead pulsed. He turned and ran, spurring his exhausted body around the water and towards the woman captive on the lake’s edge. 

The shield appeared before he’d even come to a full stop and with a yell to rival Bucky’s own he struck, slamming the edge into the spelled chain that tethered the Sage to the lake and Hydra’s will the loud snap of metal. 

The woman caught him, holding him steady as she looked down on his face with eyes that had held only despair before. Now they looked at him in warmth, a pale hand rising to gently rest over his forehead. 

She whispered, “Is this what you want?”

The blurry edges crept in closer, tunneling everything but the verdant green of her eyes into darkness. They’d come so far, seen so many things all for this. With this one gem, he would be free. 

Instead, he replied,” No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Soul stone soap made by chaosmanor. Made with saponified coconut oil, palm oil , cacao butter, shea  
> butter, almond oil and castor oil to give a firm bar with good cleansing properties. Fragrance is blackberry and  
> sage.


	19. Chapter 19

Hydra loved to say that through them you would never die, but Bucky knew them to be liars. He’d felt his soul shatter as the crystal tumbled from Pierce’s dead fingers for only a split second. A cold snap of everything it was to be human: the good, the pain, the struggle, and most importantly,  _ freedom _ . 

And then nothing. Pitch blackness. All that he was faded into smoke. 

Which was why, when the sound of birds filtered into his consciousness, Bucky thought it strange.

He blinked awake to a wooden ceiling and the sensation of cloth on bare skin. The bird twittered again and he turned, brows pulling as the little bluejay hopped a few steps and flew away, image swirling into the gauzy light filtering into the room. He couldn’t see anything past the windowsill, anything beyond felt as if he was trying to peer through smudged watercolors.

Without the bird, the room was utterly still, empty save for a washbasin, chair, and the bed he lay on. 

Bucky threw off the blanket from his naked limbs and got upright, listing to the side immediately. He looked down and gasped, eyes following the carefully layered bandages that swaddled the remains of his left arm, gone completely except for a few inches past the shoulder.

The memory of teeth and desperation flashed across his mind’s eye, stuttering his heart. Steve. Where was Steve?

He walked from the room without a care to his lack of clothing, all else was secondary. One step from the door’s threshold and he paused, wide-eyed as simple clothing appeared on his body with the same blurry swirl the bird had disappeared into. A moment later and he was dressed, even down to boots. 

So this must be death then because surely he hadn’t survived. He had heard Tony and seen the look in Steve’s eyes, there was no way they could have realistically recovered his soul while Pierce held it in his hands. There had always only been one outcome. 

As long as Steve had lived and escaped Bucky had no regrets. 

No longer moving with urgency, he strode down the short hall, walking past empty rooms as plain and unassuming as his own. There was something vaguely familiar about the place but the details felt all wrong. Something generic had replaced something meaningful. An echo of importance. 

He descended the stairs to the sound of conversation, a number of voices dispersed through a large room. On the last step one voice picked up over the others, one that lifted his heart and sank his stomach all at once. 

“I don’t know where I might go, I’ll wait for — “ Bucky walked into a large room of what was now obviously an Inn to Steve sitting at a broad table, seated in the middle of a ring of Sages. Every single one they’d met during their journey sat with tankards in hand, all of their attention on Steve save for the intense green eyes of the woman from the lake. 

“Your ears were burning,” Her tone was flat yet her eyes held a quiet mirth.

Steve immediately turned in his seat and leaped from it so fast it clattered to the ground, ”Bucky!” He had seconds to brace himself before Steve careened into him. 

Bucky staggered, getting only a moment to adjust his off-balance stance as Steve threw his arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a bruising kiss.

If this was death then he’d been granted something precious. It felt real, the heat of Steve’s lips, his thin body quivering on his tip-toes to reach Bucky’s mouth. Steve backed off after a few moments with a hot blush on his cheeks. Bucky chased him, catching his lips before Steve could duck his head.

Across the room, Tony cleared his throat obnoxiously and Sam smacked him while hissing, “Do you have to ruin everything?”

Steve deflated, sliding from his arms with a stricken frown. Bucky’s lips soon followed. ”What is this? Death? A dream?”

This time Clint spoke, “A sprinkle of that, a sprinkle of this,” And the redhead was the one to swat him. 

She turned to him, a tiny smile touching her lips. She looked far less like a wraith now that she was in pants and a tunic, no trace of her ordeal in Hydra left behind. 

She motioned them to sit and Steve guided him to the seat next to his own with a tankard of cool dark ale already waiting for him. She fixed the others with a warning look and said, ”Thank you, for helping Steven and for helping free me. I’m Natasha.” 

Bucky looked at all the Sages then down at his lone hand wrapped loosely around his mug. ”How is this possible?” 

Tony flinched, Sam’s eyes slid towards Steve, and the others remained conspicuously quiet.

“I’m — I’m so sorry, Buck,” Steve’s voice wavered beside him, and to his surprise tears tracked down Steve’s pale cheeks. ”I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t...I didn’t want to lose you.”

Slowly, Steve reached out to gently touch Bucky’s chest over his heart at the same time he pulled his own shirt aside to reveal half of a star in winding silvery-blue etched over his heart. A quick glance at Bucky’s chest revealed the same, a mirror to Steve’s.

Natasha set her mug down, not that she’d taken a sip yet judging from how full it was. ”Instead of giving up the Soul gem, Steve chose to use it.”

“Your soul was all but destroyed by Hydra already, I could only recover a little of it, and…” Steve trailed, clutching the half-star on his chest with a sniffle.

“He gave you half of his. You’re a construct, you can’t exist without some form of tether, but this way, Steve made it as equal as he could. You’re bound together, should you die he would live a half-life, and the same would happen to you should he.” Natasha explained, ”But —”

“ — This is still your body, I mean, it is now. It might not be the one you had originally but it’s  _ yours _ now. ”Steve interrupted, turning to grip his hand so tight their joined grasp quivered.

A part of him felt as if he should be angry. Bucky had gone from being tethered to Pierce to now Steve. And yet — 

And yet Steve was also tethered to  _ him _ . Steve might have made the decision for him but Bucky would have never admitted out loud he had selfishly wanted to go on. He had wanted more. More time to see the world, to meet people he had once tried to destroy, to have more time with Steve. He wanted  _ everything _ . Now he had the chance.

Gently, he slid his hand from Steve’s grip and cupped his cheek, running his thumb against Steve’s tear-streaked skin. ”It’s alright, I’m not mad, not about what you think anyway,” He chortled, ”I’m irritated your immediate reaction was to gamble your life, but I guess I should be used to that by now.” The Sages chuckled quietly and Steve pouted. Bucky kissed the pout away.

“But why are all of you here?” He would talk to Steve privately later about the bonding and what it meant but for now, he had more pressing questions, namely, where the All were they?

Thor thumped his tankard against the table and sloshed ale onto Bruce’s hand resting inches away, not that the man seemed to notice. ”To congratulate Steven of course!” His voice was as warm and booming as ever. 

“Congratulate?” Bucky echoed, looking to Steve for understanding but he just ducked his head, blush returning. 

Clint grinned from ear to ear, ”Steve fulfilled what he was tasked to do. Kick Hydra’s ass!”

Sam snickered at Clint’s enthusiasm, ”Because of you two the Kingdoms are safer. When you both killed the Hydra it freed the souls Pierce was forcing Natasha to help stay tethered to the cave before they could make more soldiers. It had a ripple effect. It turns out Pierce had been puppeting the King’s corpse for years and only a handful of people knew. With Pierce dead Hydra is in turmoil.”

“Not to mention most of their army was trying to bust down the doors of a few kingdoms at the same time since Steve wasn’t there to give anyone a head’s-up. So they’ve all but exhausted their army. Pierce was funneling energy to war like I give to my machines. Without him? Tits up.” Tony jumped in with a snicker.

Bruce seemed to rouse himself to say, “Right now, the Kingdoms are mostly playing cleanup.” 

“The Kingdoms are going to mount a joint effort to push into Hydra territory and round up the remaining high-influencing necromancers and nobility. Within a season, Hydra will fall.” Sam said with a definitive tone as if this was all set in stone. Considering the people around him Bucky figured it probably was. 

“We wanted to thank Steve as well. I was one of the ones that pushed for what we did, I thought the sacrifice was worth it, even if it wasn’t my decision to make.” Natasha sighed, “I won’t ask for forgiveness, I don’t regret it, but I do sincerely hope that you live your life to the fullest now. Trust that you and yours will be taken care of and your deeds will be known.”

Steve squirmed in his chair, ”It’s — I can’t say ‘it’s okay’, because it still feels a lot like Hydra’s tactics, but I do understand. I’m glad giving up everything was worth it in the end,” He paused, bit his lip, and glanced at Bucky, ”I couldn’t have done it without him.”

Thor laughed, hand resting over his broad stomach. ”Of course not! Everything is as it was supposed to be, including you. None of this would have been possible without you both together.” Around the table, the Sages nodded, soft smiles curling their lips.

Bucky’s hand slid down until his fingers tangled with Steve’s, and for once the looming tomorrow didn’t fill him with dread.

  
  
  


One moment he’d been bidding the Sages goodbye with Steve and the next he was waking. Instead of eerie silence, the din of humanity filtered up from the floor below, layered with the sounds of dishes and a woman’s laughter. 

The bed underneath him was soft and sturdy, barely creaking as he shifted to take stock of his body. He’d scarcely moved an inch before a warm breath snuffled against his right shoulder. Steve was plastered against his side, long hair in a tangle, and drooling a small puddle against his shoulder. No gems, no otherworldliness, just Steve. 

Moving jostled Bucky’s injury but he didn’t care. Bucky shifted just enough to place a tender kiss to the top of Steve’s head, gratified to hear the quiet intake of breath as Steve roused from his slumber. He should perhaps feel more guilty about waking Steve up but he didn’t. In fact, he’d say he was being quite generous doing it so quietly. 

Steve gave a jaw-cracking yawn and pushed even closer, “We have little to move for...are you so cruel?” He whined yet tipped his head up to sleepily smile good morning.

“In fact I am,” Bucky murmured, “Where are we?”

A soft hand slid up and rested on his bare stomach underneath the warm quilted blanket. ”You don’t know?”

The answer, seemingly unhelpful, was all Bucky needed to know. He nodded gently, resting his head back against his pillow. ”Do you think they will wish to know me? After what I’ve done?”

Steve’s smile softened, fingernails scratching soothingly against Bucky’s skin. ”You mean help save the Kingdoms after being enslaved for nearly a century? Yes, I think they will want to know you.” He leaned up on his elbow to catch Bucky’s lips in a feather-light kiss.

It was easier to let the dread go when faced with Steve’s warm lips. “That’s cheating,” He weakly protested. 

“Careful, though the healer did wonders you are still recovering, ” Steve grimaced, thumbing a mostly-healed gash against his hip, ”And so am I.” He smirked.

“I’m fine, Steve. Better than fine.” There was no brand to burn him, no whispers urging him to maim and kill, no trace of Hydra’s unholy magic left within him. 

Bucky captured Steve’s lips in a deeper kiss to prove his point. Steve shivered, mouth opening to admit his tongue as they lazily explored each other’s mouths. 

He scooped Steve up with his arm and pulled Steve on top of him, not that he put up much of a fight.

Bucky reached to place his hand flat against the half-star on Steve’s chest, ”Thank you, but with that ‘thanks’ I have to say that was incredibly stupid. What are you going to do if I should die?”

He really should have expected the mulish expression but it still caught him by surprise, ”Do you have any plans on doing that so soon? No? Then it’s a moot point,” Steve huffed, throwing his leg over Bucky’s hip to sit perched on his pelvis. ”All the more reason to look after one another, I should think.”

They’d never talked about an ‘after’. What would happen after both their quests were fulfilled. Bucky had always assumed Steve would go his separate way and he would — he would...Bucky didn’t know. He’d never really believed he would be alive to have an ‘after’. 

And yet Steve talked as if he was promising forever.

“Is that so?” Bucky hadn’t meant to whisper. Hadn’t meant to weave his heart into three words. 

Steve hummed, leaning down until his lips hovered over Bucky’s. ”It is so.” They kissed, soft and sweet as the bustle of Barnes’ Inn clamored below. He didn’t know what they would do, where they would go, but the unknowing didn’t feel like stumbling in the dark anymore. Steve had been his guiding light, so bright it burned. Burned until the darkness had been stripped away and he could finally find his way home.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Infinity stone soap by chaosmanor

**Author's Note:**

> Check us out on twitter!  
> Author: [Neonbat](https://%5Bbeta's_tumblr_name%5D.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Artist: [chaosmanor](https://twitter.com/chaosmanor)
> 
> Artist:[Alpaca and Kittens](https://twitter.com/AlpacaKittens)
> 
> Beta: [Nika](https://twitter.com/Smart_Boy_Bucky)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for "All that's divined"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28067325) by [chaosmanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosmanor/pseuds/chaosmanor)




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